


Making the Season Bright

by MsBrooklyn



Series: Assembly Line (or Why It's a Lot Harder than Steve Thought to Recruit New Members) [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Spider-Man (Ultimateverse), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-03 15:31:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5296646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBrooklyn/pseuds/MsBrooklyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Parker is determined that Captain America and the Winter Soldier have their best Christmas ever.  He's going to do what it takes to make their season bright.  But what does any of that have to do with Jessica Jones' latest missing persons case?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - As in Olden Days

Author's Note:  Here we go again, with a few very noticeable changes. (1) I've enabled Comment Moderation, a new feature here on AO3.  This does not mean I'm not willing to accept constructive criticism.  What I'm not willing to accept are inflammatory remarks, commenters bashing other commenters or anything else that would violate the rules on any given internet forum.  (2) I'm trying something a little different which you'll see in the prologue.  (3) I couldn't stop writing this series.  I had this story outlined since last week when I started binge watching Jessica Jones.  Enjoy!

 

 

0000000000000

 

 **Prologue - As In Olden Days**  
  
  
  
Old person smell is universal.  It doesn't matter how rich or how poor the old person is, they have this _smell_.  Let's get this straight, okay?  I don't have anything against old people in general.  Or their smell.  I'm just stating a fact.  Know what I do have against old people?  Their homes are always stifling hot, which means you're gagging on that old people smell.  So why am I in Spring Valley, sweating my ass off in the living room of an old lady and choking on her stink?  
  
Duh.  Money.  This old lady paid me to come here so she could tell me about her case.  She's too old to drag her ass down to Hell's Kitchen but she's not too old to pay for the ZipCar that brought me here or the two hundred bucks I'm charging to hear her out.  
  
"Who referred you to me?" I ask.  
  
Mrs. Proctor is older than dirt but she's sharp as a tack.  "Nobody.  Your firm name begins with an 'A' and you were the fifth detective that I called and the second to actually call me back, Ms. Jones."  
  
Lucky me.  "Tell me about your brother."  
  
"Are you sure I can't get you something to drink?"  
  
"Positive," I tell her because she's going to offer me coffee or tea and what I could really use after fighting traffic for two hours on the West Side Highway and the Cross Bronx Expressway is whiskey.  Lots of it.  "Tell me about your brother."  
  
"He was presumed to have been killed in action during the war," Mrs. P says. "That's the Second World War.   They never found his body and whatever he was doing was classified, so I was never able to find out what country he was in.  I did know that he was somewhere in Europe, but that's all."  
  
I make a note to request to have the records unsealed.  Probably, this never occurred to Mrs. P and sure, she could do it herself but it's still technically investigating and that's where I come in.  My name is Jessica Jones and I'm a private investigator.  At least that's what I keep telling myself and the handful of clients that come my way.  
  
"That was a long time ago," I tell her carefully.  "If he really did survive, he could have died afterwards anywhere in the world under a fake name and we'd probably never know about it.  What makes you think he's out there now?"  
  
She picks up the folder that's been in her lap the entire time and hands it to me without saying a word.  
  
I flip the folder open to a newspaper clipping and my first thought is that I'm dealing with somebody with an advanced form of dementia.  "You can't be serious."  
  
"I am," she says and damn, is she ever.    
  
Okay, so it's probably not dementia but this cannot be for real.  It just can't.  
  
I look down again at the picture of the guy Mrs. Proctor is claiming to be her brother.  It's a picture that's been all over the Internet the last couple of weeks.  Hell, it's been everywhere.  The entire world has been captivated by the image of the Winter Soldier hugging the living shit out of Spider-man.  They even have a name for it.  #WinterSoldierSnuggles.    
  
"My maiden name was Barnes," Mrs. P tells me.    
  
Definitely not dementia.  
  
"Jesus Christ," I mutter, flipping through the folder.  There are birth certificates, a death certificate for James Buchanan Barnes, and scanned copies of a handful of ancient photos of a young, cocky Bucky Barnes with a little girl -- probably Mrs. P -- and his pal, Steve Rogers.  And then it dings on me.  "Rebecca.  Becky and Bucky."  
  
"He hated that when he got old enough to know better, started calling me Becca," Becky Barnes -- and I will never again be able to think of her as anything else -- says with a smile.  Her eyes meet mine.  "I refused to say goodbye to him when he shipped out and we had nothing to bury so I lost the chance again.  I have the chance now, only the one who's going to die first is me."  
  
I feel like a first class shit.  The nice old lady is dying.  "How much time do you have left?"  
  
"I'm ninety one, dear.  Every day is a crap shoot."  And damn if the cultured old lady voice doesn't have more than a touch of Brooklyn street in it now.  Becky Barnes must have been some tough bitch in her day.  
  
"If your brother doesn't want to be found, I'm not going to be able to find him," I tell her truthfully.  "He's a pro."  And then I narrow my eyes at her.  "But so are you.  You knew exactly who you were calling when you called me and it wasn't because Alias Investigations is the eleventh listing under 'A'."  
  
"Peggy Carter recommended you.  We... weren't friends exactly but we both lost Steve and Bucky and we've stayed in touch all these years.  She's the first one I called when I found out he was still alive," Becky Barnes admits.  "When he started showing up in New York City with that Spider-man boy, she made a few inquiries.  She was instrumental in creating SHIELD, you see."  
  
I did.  I just didn't like what I was seeing.  The thing is, I never had any dealings with SHIELD and I preferred to keep it that way.  "I don't know Peggy Carter or anybody from SHIELD."  
  
Becky Barnes' stare is level.  "She knew about you and she said you could handle yourself, even with Bucky being as dangerous as they say he is."  
  
That much is true.  I just didn't like the idea that the lady who founded SHIELD knew it.  
  
"And really," Becky Barnes goes on, "it's just another missing persons case for you, isn't it?"  
  
That much is also true.  My cases typically fall into two categories: cheaters and missing persons.  Bucky Barnes, though, is the mother of all missing persons cases.  Mother being the operative word.  As in mother fucker of a case.  There are a million ways this case could go wrong.  I might not find him.  I might actually fucking find him.    
  
And I already have a few ideas where to start.  
  
I dig an agreement out of my bag and hand it to Becky Barnes.  "I charge by the hour and it's five hundred up front."  



	2. All I Want for Christmas

**Chapter 1 - All I Want for Christmas**  
  
  
  
  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"It's the Christmas tree," Peter says.  They're in his living room where he's got the box from the attic sitting open in front of him.  He's assembling the base of the artificial tree in its usual position by the fireplace.  
  
Bucky scowls down at it.  "It's a fake tree."  
  
"Well, yeah," Peter confirms.    
  
"It's fake."  
  
"Uh-huh.  Hand me the -- never mind.  Got it."  Peter reaches for the next section of the tree and then he catches the look on Bucky's face.  "Artificial trees are better for the environment.  And they're less likely to catch fire."  
  
"Why would a tree catch fire?" Bucky asks, picking up a string of lights and examining it as if it's some kind of weapon he's not familiar with.  
  
Peter stares pointedly at the lights.    
  
Bucky's eyes go wide.  "These are for the tree?"  
  
And that's when it hits Peter with all the force of a Number Seven subway train that's running without delays.  Bucky hasn't had a proper Christmas in at least seventy years.  More, maybe, because of the Depression.  This is his first Twenty-First Century Christmas so maybe he needs to be eased into how things are done now.  Things like artificial trees and strings of lights.  "Modern trees have a lot of, um, electronic stuff."  
  
"Electronic stuff," Bucky echoes, his mouth curling with disdain.  He fiddles with the string of lights again.  "I want a real tree.  Without all this electronic crap."  
  
Peter's heart actually skips a beat.  Bucky just said something he's never said before.  
  
He said, 'I want.'  
  
The Winter Soldier was not allowed to want.  He took what he was given by his handlers.  
  
Up until now, Bucky has been making small choices about his personal preferences.  He's very vocal about what he wants for Peter and the After School Avengers, less vocal about what he wants for Steve and he has never said he wanted _anything_ for himself.  Until now.  
  
Bucky wants a real tree.  
  
Bucky.  Wants.  A.  Real.  Tree.  
  
Bucky is going to _have_ a real tree, Peter decides.  
  
"Okay," Peter says, quickly shoving the pieces of the artificial tree back into the box.  He considers texting Aunt May to ask permission first because Aunt May hates pine needles in the carpet.  Aunt May also hates what HYDRA did to Bucky.   There's no way she's going to deny him a real tree.  
  
Still, he should make sure.  
  
He reaches for his phone and shoots off two text messages.  
  
Mission accomplished, Peter grins up at Bucky.  "I'm going to finish taking this apart and putting it back into the attic.  Wanna Google and find out what we need to keep a fresh tree looking nice until Christmas while I do that?  And then we can go tree shopping."  
  
The look on Bucky's face is like Christmas itself is supposed to be.  Radiant.  Joyful.  
  
He takes a picture of Bucky with his phone and sends it to the one person he knows will appreciate it even more than he does.  
  
  
  
000000000000000  
  
  
  
The photo clinches it.  
  
As if receiving a text from Peter telling him that 'Bucky says he wants a real tree for Christmas' wasn't enough.  Steve doesn't even remember throwing on his leather jacket or the elevator ride down to the parking garage.  The ping of the alert telling him that Peter sent him a photo is the only thing that stops Steve before he can climb onto his bike and hightail it off to Queens.  
  
Steve dashes off a quick text telling Peter that he's on his way and vows to break every traffic law and the laws of physics if he has to so that he can be there to watch Bucky pick out a Christmas tree.  
  
  
  
0000000000000  
  
  
Aunt May reads Peter's text message and can't see her virtual keyboard to reply because her eyes are tearing up.  Luckily, it's a StarkPhone.  She dictates and sends her answer and promises herself not to complain about the pine needles in the carpet this year.  
  
And then she starts making a list of everything she'll need to make sure Bucky has a traditional Christmas with his family.  
  
Bucky wants a real Christmas.  
  
May Parker is going to make sure he has one.  
  
  
  
0000000000000  
  
  
  
"I thought we were leavin', punk."  Bucky is perched on the edge of Peter's bed.  He's got his favorite Army jacket on, the one that declares him to be Sergeant James Reilly, Aunt May's  cousin.  There is a pair of eyeglasses perched on his nose that Mary Jane picked out for him.  The frames are a dark brown tortoiseshell and Bucky looks like a scruffy grad student in them.  Mary Jane has made developing Bucky's civilian disguise her on-going project and it seems like every day, she sends him new ideas on how to alter his appearance.  
  
Peter scrolls through the Yelp reviews of the fancy garden center.  "You keep telling me to research my missions.  I'm researching.  This place is expensive but they're supposed to have the best trees."  
  
Bucky eyes him suspiciously.  "Are you stalling?"  
  
Lying to the Winter Soldier is pointless.  "Yes.  Steve's coming to help us pick out a tree."  
  
"How does Steve know --?"  Bucky cuts himself off and tries a different question.  " _Why_ does Steve know?"  
  
Peter gives him his most innocent look and what he says is technically the truth.  "It occurred to me that Steve hasn't had a traditional Christmas since he woke up, either.  I thought he'd like to come."  
  
The look that Bucky gives him says he's not entirely convinced about Peter's truthfulness but he's willing to let it slide.  
  
"Besides," Peter adds in a burst of inspiration, "between the three of us we could probably have the tree decorated by the time Aunt May gets home from work.  Mary Jane can even come by to help after she's done babysitting the Kaminsky twins."  
  
The earns him a smile.  Bucky and Mary Jane adore each other.  "If Stevie's staying for dinner, we should order in and give Aunt May a break."  
  
"Um, okay," Peter agrees weakly.  He sold a couple of photos to the Daily Bugle and he should have enough to cover the cost of the tree and dinner.  Unfortunately, he's going to need to take more to cover the cost of the Christmas gifts he's been planning.  His family has tripled in size this year.  
  
Steve's motorcycle rumbles into the driveway and Bucky bounds down the stairs like an over-eager puppy to greet him at the door.  The pair share a manly embrace because hugging is the thing they do now.  
  
Peter grins down at them and slips into his jacket.    
  
The smile Steve flashes him is as radiant and joyful as Bucky's was earlier.  He grabs Peter in a hug that could possibly break Peter's ribs if he weren't a super soldier too.  "Thanks for calling me, punk."  
  
Bucky clears his throat.  "Disguise, Stevie."  
  
Steve blinks at him, confused.    
  
"Petey, go get Stevie's disguise."  Bucky folds his arms across his chest, smirking at Steve.  "We can't have Captain America wanderin' around Forest Hills with a guy that could be Bucky Barnes and some punk kid, can we?"  
  
"I'm wearing a ball cap," Steve protests and then he does a double-take.  "Are you wearing glasses?"  
  
"Mary Jane picked 'em out.  She picked out a pair for you, too."  He turns.  "The pony tail was her idea too, along with the fake nose ring."  Bucky points to the small silver hoop on his left nostril.  "I'm not sold on that one though."  
  
Peter hands Steve the eyeglasses that Mary Jane picked out for him.  "I'd lose the nose ring."  
  
"I'm gonna give it a shot," Bucky declares.  "Mary Jane's got a good head on her shoulders."  
  
Steve slips on the pair of glasses.  "Well?"  
  
"You'll do," Bucky tells him.     
  
Peter grins and locks the door as they leave.  For the first time in days, he's not dreading his first Christmas without Uncle Ben.  In fact, he's looking forward to his first Christmas with his new family.  
  
  
  
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"My ma usually worked on Christmas," Steve is saying as they walk to the gardening center.  He curses himself for being in such a rush that he forgot they'd need a vehicle if they wanted to be inconspicuous getting the tree home.  "Trees were a luxury we couldn't afford anyway but Buck's dad always got a tree, except in 1929 and 1930, when he wasn't working steady."  He cuts his eyes over to Bucky but the set of Bucky's jaw says he doesn't remember.  
  
Peter peers up at him.  "But you had Christmas, right?"  
  
"As much as we could," Steve explains.  "New socks or a new pair of shoes to replace a pair I'd outgrown."    
  
"A doll," Bucky murmurs.  
  
Steve stops in his tracks and stares at him.    
  
Bucky stops too, head cocked slightly.  "Not mine."  
  
"No, Buck.  It was Becca's."  
  
"Tell me," Bucky says.  
  
Steve has to reach for the memory and he's not sure he's got it completely right.  "I think she was eight.  There was this doll that was in the window at Murtree's."  He catches the confused look on Peter's face.  "It was a neighborhood store.  Like a five and dime.  You know what that is, right?"  
  
Peter nods.  "Kind of."  
  
"Becca fell in love with that doll.  Becky.  We called her Becky back then."  It's coming back now.  "She was Becca when she got older."  Steve notices Bucky clamp a hand onto Peter's shoulder and he wonders if Bucky is remembering something.  "She wouldn't stop talking about it.  Even came up with a name for it --"  
  
"Beatrix," Bucky says.  "For Beatrix Potter."  
  
Steve sucks in air and has to remind himself how to breathe.  "Times were tight and your ma kept telling her not to get her hopes up, that you couldn't afford it.  You'd just moved into a smaller apartment to save money and you and Becca were sharing a room --"  
  
"My dad came home with the doll," Bucky says, closing his eyes.  "He'd been drinking and there was a fight.  My ma wanted to know where he got the money and he kept telling her to shut up.  That was the first time he hit my ma.  Becca never played with the doll."  He opens his eyes and looks hard at Steve.  "We had a tree.  You and me."  
  
It takes everything not to exhale in relief at the change of subject.  Steve vaguely remembers the doll and that Becca never played with it.  He never knew why.  Until now.  "Old Man Grabski had a tradition.  Every year, he'd have a contest of strength to get rid of the trees he couldn't sell."  
  
"Contest of strength?" Peter asks.  
  
"He threw the trees and if you could catch one without it hitting the ground, it was yours."  There's a hint of a smile on Bucky's face as Steve tells this story.  "Buck and me tried for years and every year, we couldn't do it.  Until --"  
  
"We did it.  I was workin' at the docks," Bucky puts in.  "My first year and back-breakin' work it was, too."  
  
Peter's eyes go wide at the sound of the Irish-inflected Brooklynese coming out of Bucky's mouth.  He hits Bucky with a look that can only be described as pure adoration and Steve's heart melts at the sight.  
  
"The tree was a big bastard, too," Bucky goes on, his voice still accented.  "Took us a long time to drag it back to the apartment."  
  
"We didn't have decorations," Steve adds.  "Bucky had a garter that some dame left behind and we hung that instead.  Figured that's what both of us wanted for Christmas anyway."  
  
Peter blushes.  "You did not!"  
  
"We did," Steve confirms.  
  
"That's not happening in Aunt May's house," Peter warns, shaking a finger at them both.  
  
Steve snaps off a salute.  "Sir, yes, sir!"  
  
The boy blushes and ducks his head and Steve reaches out to ruffle his hair affectionately.  
  
"We had Christmas during the war, too," Steve tells him, glancing over at Bucky who nods to let him know it's okay to keep going with the stories.  "Dum Dum got a sprig of mistletoe from God only knows where..."

 

 

*************

 

If the tree-tossing story looks familiar, it's because I borrowed it from Betty Smith's classic A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.


	3. Rocking Around the Christmas Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the vein of the game 'Never Have I Ever'... Never have I ever had such an awesome response to a story. First person is as challenging to write as it is to read so I really appreciate the kind remarks on it. I've had a bunch of questions about whether I was going to spoil the Jessica Jones series in any way. The answer is no. I'm going to carefully avoid it so for the purists who want to know where this story fits in the timeline, I'm going to say it's a little bit before the events of the Netflix series. There will not even be a pair of purple socks in this story. Promise.

**Chapter 2 - Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree**  
  
  
  
  
Peter is busily snapping pictures of Bucky going through the process of selecting a tree.  It didn't take any effort on his part or Steve's to convince Bucky that he should get to pick the perfect tree from the many, many trees at the garden center.  Steve and Peter are content to watch -- and snap photos -- as Bucky applies his Winter Soldier skills to hone in on the various merits and flaws of each potential candidate.    
  
Steve just watches him, grinning like a great big dork.  
  
Naturally, Peter gets a bunch of pictures of that, too.  
  
"Hey, Pete.  Want me to get a picture of you with your family?"  The voice from behind Peter nearly startles him into dropping the camera.  
  
Peter turns to see Kong wearing a canvas apron with the garden center's logo and a name tag.  "Uh, hi."  
  
Bucky is staring daggers at Kong, the tree forgotten and his expression hardening fast.  Steve immediately picks up on Bucky's reaction and takes his place at Bucky's side.  "That's one of Petey's little friends from school," Bucky spits out sarcastically.  "You know, one of the ones who likes to pick on him."  
  
"I don't --" Kong begins.  
  
"He really doesn't," Peter cuts him off.  "I-I mean, he did and yeah, he's best friends with Flash.  But Kong's okay --"  
  
"Kong?" Bucky cuts him off.  " _Kong_?  Kid, really, people a lot better than you have been using that nickname since the movie came out in '33."  
  
"Buc -- uh, buddy, please," Peter tugs at Bucky's arm.  "He's okay."  
  
Kong's eyes tick from Bucky to Steve and then back to Peter.  He extends a hand in Bucky's direction.  "Sir, we haven't been formally introduced. My name is Kenny McFarlane and you're right.  I'm a jackass who's friends with Flash Thompson and may I add, sir, the way you handled Flash --"  
  
"James Reilly," Bucky interrupts him sharply.  "Petey's cousin."  
  
Peter eyes Bucky.  "You handled Flash?  What does he mean, you handled Flash?"  
  
"Oh, dude, it was awesome," Kong gushes and then abruptly shuts up when he sees the murderous expression on Bucky's face.  He pales slightly.  "They had a nice chat about why bullying is bad and Flash promised not to bother you again.  Isn't that right, Sergeant Bar -- uh, Reilly?"  
  
Peter's chest goes tight with panic.  
  
"And you must be Captain, uh..."  Kong eyes Steve speculatively and there's a long pause until he comes up with...  "Rothstein."  
  
"Rothstein?" Peter echoes and exchanges looks with Steve and Bucky.  
  
"Sure, because these two huge Army guys who so obviously aren't Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers couldn't possibly be shopping at the friggin' Forest Hills Garden Garage for a Christmas tree with Peter Parker who isn't Spider-man."  Kong rolls his eyes and digs around in the pocket of his canvas apron.  "Here's a coupon for ten percent off your purchase.  Veterans get an extra ten percent off and they stack the discounts."  He shoves the coupon into Steve's hand, turns on his heel and calls over his shoulder, "See you at school, Pete."  
  
"Oy," Peter moans.  
  
"He gave us a coupon," Steve says.  
  
Bucky rolls his eyes and goes back to looking at the trees, muttering about teenagers, secret identities and that fathead, Flash Thompson.  
  
  
  
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Mary Jane Watson realizes that nothing she's ever seen in her life compares with the sight of Captain America, Bucky Barnes and Peter lugging a gigantic Christmas tree down the street.  She quickly whips out her cell phone and starts taking pictures because, hello.  Adorable!  
  
And then it gets better.  
  
Each of them is wearing an identical gleeful grin.  They look like a bunch of little kids.  
  
"Get the door," Peter huffs.  
  
"You can lift a car," Mary Jane points out.  "All of you."  
  
"We carried this thing for ten blocks.  We need to keep up appearances."  
  
She rolls her eyes.    
  
Bucky winks at her.  
  
Mary Jane pulls out her key and opens the front door, standing aside while the three wise dorks set up the tree.  Bucky whips out a knife from God only knows where and cuts off a chunk from the base of the tree while Peter gets water for the tree stand.  Steve positions the tree stand while Bucky gently positions the tree.  The entire operation is carried out with such military precision that it's obvious that they planned it in advance.  
  
Bucky steps back to admire his tree.  
  
Both Peter and Mary Jane snap photos of Bucky who's got an expression like it's Christmas morning and he's just received the best present ever.  
  
Mary Jane grabs her messenger bag and hands Bucky the thing she picked up on her way back from babysitting the Kaminsky twins.  Okay, it was a little bit out of her way, but it was worth it and so was spending all the money she'd just earned babysitting.  
  
"A little early for a Christmas present, doll," Bucky comments.  
  
"It's a pre-Christmas present," Mary tells him and she hands an identical box to Steve.  "Go on.  Open them up."  
  
Bucky tests the weight.  "What is this?  A grenade?"  
  
"You wish."  
  
"Bucky has a stockpile of grenades," Peter teases.  "They were buy one get two at the HYDRA bunker liquidation sale."  
  
The grin Bucky sends her way says that's not exactly a joke.  He carefully tears the wrapping paper and it occurs to Mary Jane that her grandmother always did the same thing.  Because _she grew up during the Depression_ and she always said wrapping paper could be reused.  Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Steve doing the same thing.  
  
"Oh," Bucky says softly, looking down at the unpainted porcelain ornament kit.  "Wow."  
  
"Wow," Steve echoes, looking down at his.  
  
Mary Jane can feel herself blushing all the way down to her toes.  "I thought you might like to make your own ornaments to commemorate your first Christmas together in this century."  
  
"Wow," Peter says, pulling Mary Jane to him and kissing her.  "Did I ever hit the jackpot with you!"  
  
"And don't you forget it, tiger."  
  
  
000000000000000000  
  
  
"So, uh, these are the Parker family ornaments," Peter says, setting the box in front of Bucky.  "Uncle Ben usually did the honors of picking out the first one to go on the tree.  Would you mind doing it this year?"  
  
Mary Jane starts snapping more photos as Bucky opens the box and begins sorting through its contents.    
  
The little-kid smile is back on Bucky's face and Steve has to sit down.  He's going to be up all night sketching but for now, he wants to savor every second.  Peter has swapped out his cell phone for his professional camera and he grins at Steve while the shutter rapidly clicks, capturing every detail of Bucky inspecting each ornament.  
  
Bucky emits a joyful sound that Steve hasn't heard in what feels like forever as he holds up a small, painted plaster handprint.  The words 'Peter, age 2' are painted in bright red on the yellow hand.  "Look how little he was, Stevie!"  
  
Peter groans.  "Get that out of your system before Aunt May gets here or she'll break out the photo albums."  
  
"No need," Bucky crows triumphantly, holding up an ornament with Peter's baby picture printed on it. "This is definitely going on the tree."  
  
"Oh my God," Peter whines.  "It's a Tree of Humiliation."  
  
Mary Jane gives Peter a sharp kick to the ankle.  "It makes Bucky happy so quit ruining his fun."  
  
Steve has to duck his head to hide his smile.  
  
There's a loud bark of laughter and Bucky holds up a Captain America ornament.  "This is definitely going on the tree, too."  
  
"That was Uncle Ben's.  From when he was a kid," Peter explains, peering into the box.  He reaches in and plucks out a Bucky Bear ornament.  "So was this one.  What do you think, Steve?  Definitely on the tree?"  
  
"I hated those damn bears," Bucky grumbles.  
  
"Definitely," Steve agrees.  He takes the ornament from Peter's hand and, with years of combat experience, instantly selects the location where it will be the most visible.  
  
"No rough-housing in the living room," Peter warns.  "You can do that in the backyard where you can't break anything."  
  
"Sir, yes sir!" Bucky and Steve bark in unison, snapping salutes at Peter.  
  
Mary Jane howls with laughter.  
  
  
00000000000000000  
  
May can hear the laughter coming from her living room as she climbs the front steps.  She's been smiling so hard all afternoon that her cheeks ache.  In a good way, of course.  Still, nothing could prepare her for the sight that awaits her when she steps inside.  
  
There is a huge Christmas tree in her living room and it's decorated from top to bottom using ornaments that Peter refused to let see the light of day for the past three years.   A good many of them are his childhood portraits or keepsakes.  There are small frames holding pictures of Peter on Santa's lap and family portraits.  The nostalgia nearly takes her breath away.  Until she sees the Captain America and Bucky Bear ornaments hung side by side and she breaks into a huge smile all over again.  
  
"We need a Spidey ornament," Bucky says, coming up next to her and pressing a kiss to her cheek.  "Thanks for letting me have this."  
  
"Thank you for taking the tree down and packing the ornaments back up when Christmas is over," May teases him and gives him a peck on his cheek, along with a quick hug.    
  
Bucky's grin is more radiant than she's ever seen it as he launches into their running joke.  "Can Stevie stay for dinner, Aunt May?"  
  
One look at Steve is all May needs to respond, "Is Stevie sleeping over too?"    
  
The two super soldiers exchange looks.  
  
"I... uh..." Steve begins.  
  
It's so obvious that he wants to bask in every moment of Bucky's happiness that May decides to rescue him from his own awkwardness.  "Peter, Steve will sleep in your room.  You can sleep on the sofa tonight."  
  
"Okay," Peter agrees easily.  "Can Mary Jane stay for dinner, too?"  
  
"Only if she convinces Bucky to take out that godawful fake nose ring."  
  
"I was thinking of getting one for real," Bucky jokes.  "And maybe a tongue stud."  
  
"Not while you're living under my roof," May mock-scolds him.  "Will one of you please order dinner while I change?"  
  
Bucky and Steve both snap off salutes.  "Ma'am, yes ma'am."  
  
"The word," Mary Jane tells her, "is adorkable."  
  
It certainly is.  
  
  
0000000000000000000  
  
  
**Meanwhile...In Hell's Kitchen**  
  
  
  
  
They say the shortest distance from point A to point B is a straight line.  Technically, that's true.  But if there are insurmountable obstacles in between point A and point B, the shortest distance isn't necessarily the best route to take.  Sometimes, it might not even be a route at all.  
  
Theoretically, the shortest route to Bucky Barnes would be to contact Captain America and tell him his best friend's sister is looking for him.  And if it were that easy, Becky Barnes would have done it herself.  It wasn't as if she hadn't tried.  Many times.  The first insurmountable obstacle in that route is the Avengers voice system.  I tried it myself and learned the hard way that menu option after menu option led to even more menu options in what I was sure after ninety minutes was a system designed to keep ordinary mortals from accidentally or intentionally leaving even a voicemail for an Avenger.  
  
Going there in person is an even more hopeless proposition.  Cranks, fans, reporters and the occasional terminally stupid bad guy have all tried on a daily basis to get past the Tower's ridiculously impressive security system and failed.  Badly.  And it wasn't like if you camped out anywhere around the building that you'd ever see an Avenger go through the building's lobby.  I suspected the building's underground garage had secret entrances a couple of blocks away.  And that was for those Avengers who couldn't fly.  
  
Speaking of flying, sure I could just show up on their doorstep because that would obviously go over so well.  Why wouldn't the flag waver want to have a conversation with some random girl detective flying by to tell him that Bucky Barnes' sister is looking for him?  
  
Yeah.  No.  
  
The short route that is Steve Rogers is a shitty option.  
  
But it isn't the only option.  
  
My other option, my best option, is Spider-man.  Unlike the Avengers, Spidey lives in the real world.  He deals with real world shit, like muggings and rapists and, okay, guys that wear rhino armor and shoot electricity from their nuts.  But still, the kid is still a _person_.  
  
And he's been known to hang around Hell's Kitchen with the other masked vigilante, Daredevil.  
  
So here is my brilliant plan.  I pick a shitty spot out of the many shitty spots in Hell's Kitchen and hope that a crime happens so a vigilante shows up.  And hope that it's the right vigilante.  If it's Daredevil, he can pass on a message to Spidey.  If it's Spidey, he can pass a message on to Snuggles.  
  
All I need is to be in the right place at the right time.  
  
So I hunker down on the fire escape overlooking the scuzziest alley I can find and I wait.  
  
It's a shitty neighborhood.  
  
I'm sure I won't have long to wait.

 

*************

Kong knows Peter is Spidey, a fact which is mentioned throughout the series.  Kong finally confronts Peter about it in Ultimate Spider-man #118-119.

 


	4. Faithful Friends Who Are Dear to Us

**Chapter 3 - Faithful Friends Who Are Dear to Us**  
  
  
  
  
"That's twelve hundred bucks you owe me, punk.  Pay up."  
  
Peter silently curses the Ol' Parker Luck and the roll of the dice that landed his thimble on Marvin Gardens where Bucky has erected one of his many hotels.  In Monopoly, as in real-life, he's cash-strapped.  "I have to sell a few houses."  
  
Bucky shrugs and the metal plates that click and whir with the motion don't sound at all sympathetic to Peter's plight.  
  
"You know," Mary Jane remarks, poking at Bucky's left shoulder.  "For a comrade sportin' a big ol' honkin' symbol of communism, you sure know how to exploit the working class."  
  
Steve snorts a laugh.  "Bucky was the neighborhood Monopoly champ when we were kids."  
  
"It was the only game _you_ couldn't cheat at," Bucky shoots back.  
  
All heads turn in Steve's direction.  He is the picture of indignation and innocence as he declares,  "Me?  Cheat?  I'm Captain America --"  
  
"Nobody ever played cards with Captain America more'n once," Bucky tells Peter and Mary Jane.  "He cleaned half the base out of chocolate and cigarette rations.  And don't even mention the game of strip poker the Howlies played this one time just off the coast of..."  He trails off and frowns.  "Damn.  Almost had that one."  
  
"Lorient," Steve supplies gently.    
  
"We just took out a submarine base," Bucky says uncertainly.  
  
Steve nods.  "HYDRA supply base."  
  
Bucky stares hard at Steve and then directs his conversation back towards Mary Jane and Peter.  "By the time Stevie was done, the fine fellas of the squad were down to their skivvies and this jerk wouldn't give us our socks back 'til the next day.  We all knew he cheated but we could never prove how."  
  
"Because I didn't."  
  
"The hell you didn't."  
  
"Language," Aunt May chides, setting a plate of cookies next to Bucky and ruffling his hair.  "Milk or coffee, sweetheart?"  
  
Peter mouths the 'sweetheart' at Mary Jane who whacks him with a couch cushion.  They're all settled comfortably on the living room floor in their third hour of Bucky kicking their collective asses at Monopoly.  Not one of them minds a bit.  
  
"Milk, please, Aunt May," Bucky says, picking up an oatmeal cookie and biting into it with a look of pure contentment.  
  
Steve raises an eyebrow.  "Planning on sharing those?"  
  
"Nope."  He moans with pleasure as he chews.  "Aunt May gave 'em to me.  If she wanted you to have 'em she'd have given 'em to you."  
  
As if on cue, Aunt May appears with a tray of glasses of milk and two more plates of cookies.  She quickly doles everything out, ruffles Bucky's hair again and heads for the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, "Half an hour more and that's it, Peter and Mary Jane.  It's a school night."  
  
They groan their token protests and go back to the business of being bankrupted by the Winter Landlord.  
  
Peter catches Steve's eye and he doesn't have to be a telepath to know what Steve is thinking.  They're both wishing this night could last forever.  
  
  
  
00000000000  
  
  
**Meanwhile... In Hell's Kitchen**  
  
  
The night feels like it's dragging on forever.  Of all the shitty alleys in Hell's Kitchen, it's just my luck that I picked the one where nothing happens.  There's not even a wino to break the monotony.   Nothing is happening in the surrounding area, either.  Not even a double-parked car.  
  
My brilliant plan is looking less brilliant every minute I freeze my ass off on this fire escape.  Daredevil is probably sitting home watching TV or playing X-box with Spider-kid.  I mean, it sounds about right.  The Avengers have their fancy clubhouse, so why can't guys like Daredevil and Spidey have a condo somewhere?   Daredevil doesn't live in Hell's Kitchen, I figure.  He just commutes here for his night job.  Spidey's another commuter, a bridge-and-tunnel superhero who's been spotted in Queens more often than he's been spotted in Hell's Kitchen.    
  
There is no way in hell I'm going out to Queens.    
  
I check my watch and realize I have twenty minutes before the liquor store on the corner closes.  Fine.  Daredevil has fifteen more minutes to show his horned head before I call it a night and pick up a fresh bottle of bourbon on my way home, I decide.  
  
And of course, no sooner do I make my decision than two guys decide to hold up the very liquor store I'm contemplating visiting.  
  
I watch them go in and one points a gun at the cashier while the other stands guard at the door.  
  
No Daredevil.  
  
The cashier opens the till and hands over a wad of cash.  
  
Still no Daredevil.  
  
The asshole with the gun doesn't look impressed with his take and he waves the gun angrily.  
  
Still no fucking Daredevil.  
  
The cashier throws his hands up in the air and starts to argue.  Of course the situation escalates from there.    
  
"Fucking Daredevil," I mutter, jumping down to the sidewalk and stalking towards the liquor store.  "He's probably whacking off somewhere warm while I freeze my tits off and have to take care of these  fucking meth-heads for his stupid costumed ass.  God, I hate this hero bullshit."  
  
Unfortunately, I'm the only hero around.  
  
Sucks to be me.  
  
  
  
00000000000000  
  
  
  
Matt considers introducing himself to the reluctant, foul-mouthed hero who smells like sweat, rust and bourbon but she seems to have the armed robbery well in hand.  Besides, he hears a mugging happening over on Twelfth Avenue.    
  
At least he finally has an answer about what this stranger was doing on that fire escape for the past three hours.  Maybe he'll introduce himself tomorrow night.  He has a strong feeling she'll be back.  
  
  
000000000000  
  
  
Steve awakens to a number of unfamiliar things.  The first is the sound of Peter rustling in the bedroom closet, pulling out school clothes.  The second is the unfamiliar sensation of waking up in a strange bed.  And the third is the realization that he slept a full night in Peter's bed.  No nightmares.  No restlessness.  Nothing but the first relaxing night's sleep he's had in a very long time.  
  
Peter winces.  "Sorry.  Didn't mean to wake you up."  
  
"What time is it?"  
  
"A little after seven."  
  
Now it's Steve's turn to wince.  He should have been up and running laps hours ago.  Then again, he decides, a day of sleeping in won't hurt.  Somewhere, Sam is cheering this decision.  
  
Peter dresses quickly and grabs his school bag from its spot next to his desk.  "We have cereal downstairs.  Sorry, it's not fancy breakfast like you get in the Tower and all but --"  
  
"Peter, it's fine."  Steve is about to say more when his cell phone chimes softly on the night stand.  He reaches for it and sees that the caller is the Peggy Carter's elder care center.  Heart leaping into his throat, Steve answers the call.  
  
"Captain Rogers."    
  
"Yes?"  
  
There's a moment's pause.  "I'm Mrs. Henry, Captain.  We met when you were here last.  You asked to be called if there was a change in Ms. Carter's condition."  
  
Steve's heart is hammering in his chest.  No.  God, no.  Please, not Peggy, too.  
  
"Ms. Carter woke up this morning completely aware, Captain Rogers," Mrs. Henry goes on.  "She's feisty as anything and she's demanding to see you."  
  
"Sh-she..."  He can't even form the words and out of the corner of his eye, he notices Peter staring at him with a worried look.  
  
"Medically, we don't know why this happens and it usually only lasts just the day.  Captain, a day like this is just like a random gift," Mrs. Henry says.  "Is there any way you can come and see her?"  
  
"I'm on my way," Steve promises.  "Tell her I said that I won't let my best girl down this time."  
  
Peter is gripping his backpack so tightly that his knuckles are white.  He drops the backpack altogether when Steve launches himself from the bed to grab the boy in a tight hug.  "S-steve?"  
  
"Give me a sec."  Steve hits the speed dial setting on his StarkPhone that will connect him to JARVIS and starts rattling off orders the second the AI answers.  "I need to be in DC as soon as possible and I need a car waiting."  
  
JARVIS, ever-efficient, makes the arrangements in seconds and informs him that Happy will be arriving in thirty minutes to take him to Tony's private jet which will get him to DC in thirty minutes instead of the usual ninety.  
  
Peter, meanwhile, hasn't moved a muscle.  
  
Steve rubs his chin and takes a moment.  He can't bring Bucky for obvious reasons but he can bring Peter. More importantly, he _wants_ to bring Peter.   "How would you like to meet Peggy Carter?"  
  
Peter just gawks at him like he's lost his mind.  
  
Not bothering to wait for an answer, Steve bounds down the stairs to the kitchen where Aunt May is handing Bucky a heaping bowl of oatmeal.  "Aunt May, can Peter come to DC with me today?  Peggy's lucid and I want him to meet her."  
  
Bucky raises an eyebrow.    
  
"Buck, the place'll be crawling with SHIELD agents and --"  
  
"I know that, punk," Bucky tells him.  "I just think it's cute how you want your dame to meet your kid."  
  
"Let me make sure I understand this, Steve.  You want Peter to miss school so he can meet Peggy Carter," Aunt May says.  "The same Peggy Carter from the history books."  
  
Steve nods.  "We'll be back tonight."  
  
She cuts her eyes to Steve's left where Peter is standing with a shell-shocked expression.  "Do you have any tests or papers due today?"  
  
"Uh-uh."  
  
"Fine.  I'll call the school and tell them you're not feeling well but only this once," Aunt May relents.  She peers up at Steve.  "I expect you to take care of him if Doc Ock or Doctor Doom or Doctor Mayhem or whoever decides to blow up the city or whatnot."  
  
Steve emits a whoop of joy, grabs Aunt May in a bear hug and twirls around the kitchen with her.     
  
Mrs. Henry was right.  A day like this is just like a random gift.  Steve intends to enjoy every moment of it.  
  
  
  
0000000000000000  
  
  
  
Peter is sure that Maria Hill had other things to do today than make sure Tony's pilot didn't make the connection between Peter Parker and Spidey.   Still, if she was irritated at the assignment, she never let it show.  Instead, she told Steve stories she'd heard about Peggy's days at SHIELD and Steve shared a few from World War II that nobody had ever heard before.  Peter spent the entire flight listening raptly to both of them.  
  
As it turns out, Maria is doing a lot more than acting as flight crew.  She's making sure that the SHIELD detail that's watching over Peggy Carter is doubled so that Steve's visit is kept under wraps from the prying eyes of the media and that any posts by nursing home staff or visitors on social media are quickly obliterated.  
  
Steve is gripping Peter's shoulder almost painfully tight when they walk into Ms. Carter's room where she is sitting up in bed, a soft beige cashmere shawl wrapped around her slender shoulders.    
  
"Steve!  You're finally here!  I told them you'd come," she exclaims in the posh tones that Peter recognizes from the documentaries.  What Peter's never seen in those documentaries is the way she's looking at Steve.  It's the way Mary Jane looks at Peter.  
  
"Hey, Peg."  Steve releases his death grip on Peter's shoulder to go over to the old woman and kiss her gently on the forehead. "How could I not come see my best girl?"  
  
There's a lump in Peter's throat as Steve takes Peggy's hand.  He has no idea what he's even doing here because this is so obviously a private moment made even more awkward by the fact that Steve is in his late twenties and Peggy Carter is in her nineties.  There's a lifetime they should have had together.  And didn't.  
  
"Is that your son hiding in the corner over there?" Peggy asks.  
  
"In a manner of speaking," Steve says.  He glances over at Peter, silently asking for permission to tell her the rest.  
  
Peter nods.  
  
"His name is Peter and he's a super soldier, too."  
  
The look Peggy throws Peter's way is sharp.  "He's a bit young, isn't he?"  
  
"I-I got my powers by accident," Peter stammers.  Peggy Carter is terrifying in her nineties.  He can't imagine what she was like when Steve knew her.  "I got bit by a spider."  
  
She raises a single gray eyebrow.  
  
Steve gently takes Peter's arm and tugs him over to Peggy's bedside, giving him an encouraging pat on the back.  "It's okay, Peter.  You can tell Peg."  
  
Peter explains about Oz, about the spider and he starts describing what he can do and Peggy's expression goes from skeptical to raptly interested.  "I can show you, if you want."  
  
"Please."  
  
Peter kicks off his shoes and leaps onto the wall of her room, climbing upwards until he's on the ceiling directly over her bed.  He waves down at her.  
  
Peggy stares up at him with a delighted smile and claps her hands.  "Oh, Steve!  He's wonderful!"    
  
"He really is," Steve agrees and Peter is thankful he's facing the ceiling so they can't see him blushing.  "You'll be happy to know that Oz isn't being marketed anywhere and that HYDRA hasn't gotten their hands on it."  
  
"And you're making sure they don't get their hands on the boy," Peggy adds.  "I've heard horrible things about their progress with human cloning."  
  
Peter chokes and nearly falls off the wall.  
  
"Well," Steve says settling into the guest chair next to Peggy's bed, "let me catch you up on that.  Peter, pull up a chair.  Peggy's going to want to hear all about our adventures."  
  
Picking up his backpack,  Peter pulls out the scrapbook that he and Mary Jane have been working on for weeks.  It was supposed to be a gift for Bucky and there should be enough time to make a new one for him.  He hands it to Steve who is reaching for the sketch books in his messenger bag.   "Maybe Ms. Carter wants to see proof that the biggest card cheat in the European theater isn't telling her a bunch of tall tales."  
  
Steve is out of his chair and hugging Peter so quickly that he's a blur.    
  
"Well," Peggy says, laughter in her voice.  "I have a few tales of my own, young Peter.  Has Steve ever told you about the flagpole at Camp Lehigh?"  
  
"No, ma'am."  
  
Her eyes are bright as she begins.  "We were still evaluating the candidates for the serum and poor Steve had to be the most unfit recruit in the history of the Army..."  
  
Peter settles back into his seat and Steve follows suit, draping an arm around Peter's shoulders.  
  
He can't wait to tell Mary Jane all about this later.

 


	5. A Real Famous Cat All Dressed Up in Red

**A Real Famous Cat All Dressed Up in Red**  
  
  
  
  
Bucky is waiting for Mary Jane at the front door of Peter's house before she even finishes climbing the front steps, proving once again that it's impossible to sneak up on a super soldier.  "Came to check up on me?"  
  
"Came to spend time with my favorite guy," Mary Jane corrects him.  And she's not checking up on him.  Not exactly.  Bucky can handle spending the day alone, just like he can handle going out to run errands or to the library and having to interact with other people.   He just prefers to be around his family.  And his family doesn't like the idea of him feeling lonely, not even for a second.  
  
"I knew you were only usin' Petey to make me jealous."  He steps aside to let her in and winks flirtatiously as she passes.  "Mission accomplished, doll baby."  
  
Mary Jane snorts out a laugh.  "You are such a dork."  
  
"But I'm a lovable dork."    
  
"That you are."  She unzips her parka and hangs it on the coat rack.  "Any word from our intrepid adventurers?"  
  
He nods and pulls out his phone to show her the texts and photos that Peter sent.  "They look like they're having fun."  
  
The hint of wistfulness in his voice at being left behind is exactly why Mary Jane is here.  She would have come even if Peter hadn't asked.  "We're going to have fun this afternoon, too."  
  
"We are?"  
  
"Yup.  Put on your disguise and get your coat.  I've got two MetroCards and I'm not afraid to use them."  Mary Jane waves the cards in the air.  "You get to take the bus today, you lucky dog you.  How many other super soldiers can say that?"  
  
Bucky eyes her suspiciously.  "You're not takin' me to the mall --"  
  
"To take your picture with Santa?  Maybe on our next date.  I'm taking you..."  She pauses dramatically.  "Back to the future."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Mary Jane suppresses the urge to roll her eyes at Bucky not getting her supremely awesome cultural reference and makes a note to ask Peter if he's introduced Bucky to Marty McFly yet.  "According to every history book ever, you went to the Stark Expo with Steve in 1943.   They had another one called the World's Fair in 1964.  I thought you might like to go to Flushing Meadows Park to see the New York Pavilion and the Unisphere.  There's an exhibit about both of the expos at the museum."  She digs in her messenger bag again.  "I got us tickets and they weren't exactly cheap so you'd better not chicken out on me, Winter Soldier."  
  
"Stark had a flying car," Bucky says softly and she can tell he's remembering seeing firsthand what's been mentioned in so many history books.  
  
Mary Jane nods.  "It's on display at the museum."  
  
"It didn't work so good."  There's more than a hint of Brooklyn in his voice now.  "Crashed down right on the stage."  
  
Maybe taking him there isn't such a good idea.  Especially now that she just remembered the museum also has an exhibit about how Dr. Erskine found Steve Rogers at the first Stark Expo.  "We don't have to go if you think it's going to be too much ---"  
  
"No, I wanna go," Bucky declares firmly, his face breaking into a sunny smile that takes Mary Jane's breath away.  "Give me a minute to go grab my nose ring and we'll go catch us a bus."  And then he runs so fast up the stairs to his bedroom that Mary Jane wonders if his feet even touched the steps.    
  
Mary Jane stares after him for a second and then cheers silently, accentuating her excitement with a fist pump.  For the second time in as many days, Bucky said that he wants something.  She dashes off a quick text to Peter and promises to take as many photos and videos as she can.  
  
Peter and Steve aren't the only ones who are going to have an adventure today.  
  
  
  
000000000000000  
  
  
  
Steve is too quiet and even though Peter understands why, he's concerned.  Mrs. Henry explained what 'sundowning' was before she took them to see Peggy.  Based on what the kindly care supervisor explained, Peter expected Peggy to slowly lose the thread of the conversation as the day wore on.  What happened was worse.  Just after four in the afternoon, Peggy shut down completely, mid-sentence.  A few minutes later, she was sound asleep and Steve abruptly excused himself.  
  
In between the time Steve went to the men's room and came back with red-rimmed eyes, Peter contacted Happy and made arrangements to get them back to New York.  Steve didn't say a word during the ride to the airport and judging by the looks Maria Hill is throwing their way, even she's worried.  
  
"Steve, do you want a drink?  There's some Asgardian ale --"  
  
"No, thank you."  
  
Maria takes the curt dismissal for what it is and leaves Peter with a clearly depressed Steve.  
  
"It was a gift," Peter tells Steve softly.  "Remember?  This day wasn't supposed to happen.  It shouldn't have happened.  But it did and you got to spend it with the Peggy you remembered.  And it sucks that you don't get to be together in this life but you had today, Steve.  You made it count."  
  
Steve raises his head and looks at Peter.  
  
"You told her you loved her."  
  
"You weren't in the room --"  
  
"I didn't have to be in the room," Peter tells him.  "I'm young and maybe I'm not the most experienced guy on the block, but I could tell.  And I could also tell she said it back."  
  
That earns him a wan smile.  "She did."  Steve narrows his eyes slightly.  "You left the room for quite a while and I don't think it was just to give us our privacy."  
  
Peter pulls out his phone.  "Well, I was saving this for our flight back anyway."  He clears his throat.  "Bucky wanted to go to the World's Fair exhibit at Flushing Meadows Park this afternoon.  Mary Jane took him and I've got a bunch of pictures and a few videos for you to see."  
  
"Bucky wanted...?"  
  
"He did.  Mary Jane asked and he said he wanted to go."  Peter sees Steve's black mood is finally starting to lift.  "That's twice in two days, Steve.  It's a good sign.  Bucky wanted things and you got a day with Peggy."  
  
"Aunt Peggy," Steve corrects him, the corners of his mouth curving upward.  " _You_ got to call the most formidable woman of the Twentieth Century 'Aunt Peggy'."  
  
"Well, I wasn't going to tell her no."  Peter opens his photo app and positions his phone so they can both look.  "I haven't seen any of these, either.  I wanted to wait for you."  His finger hovers over the 'shared album' icon.  "There's something else."  
  
"I'm almost afraid to ask what it is," Steve says.  
  
"Aunt May wants you to stay with us for a few days."  
  
"I couldn't --"  
  
"Too late.  JARVIS had your stuff sent over and she's made up your bed."  Peter toggles back to his text messages and shows him the photo of the bed that Aunt May sent while he reads her message aloud, "Tell Steve his room is ready and I'm not taking no for an answer."  
  
The smile that was starting to appear is in full force as Steve reaches over and hugs Peter.  "Today _was_ a gift, Peter, and I'm glad you were there."  
  
"I'm just sorry we missed the World's Fair with Bucky."  
  
"I went to the World's Fair with Bucky in 1943 when they called it the Stark Expo," Steve begins, leaning back in his seat, his voice taking on that soft, nostalgic tone he lapses into when he talks about things he did with Bucky.  "Bucky was on leave, fresh from sniper training and about to ship out to the 107th with his brand new sergeant's stripes..."  
  
Peter settles back and as he listens to Steve talk about what the history books can only describe in vague terms, he knows for sure that as bittersweet as the day was for Steve, it's a gift he's going to treasure for the rest of his life.  
  
  
00000000000000  
  
  
**Meanwhile...in Hell's Kitchen**  
  
  
  
Finding Bucky friggin' Barnes is a shit job that I'm going to regret taking for the rest of my life.  I should have known better than to get involved with anything having to do with the mask-and-cape-crowd.  Why?  Because their stupid-heroing is contagious.  Look at me and the dumb shit I did last night.  Having to stop two meth heads was bad enough.  Having to spend hours at the precinct talking to the cops about it afterwards was even worse.  The worst part?  Fucking Indranil charged me full price for the bourbon.  Hell, I think he may even have charged me more.  
  
I've decided that sitting on my ass waiting for shit to happen means that the odds are against me, even in Hell's Kitchen.  My brilliant plan tonight involves walking the streets and hoping some asshole attacks me.  
  
That's right.  I'm going to be the helpless victim that fucking Daredevil or Spider-man rescues.  
  
I figure it beats sitting around on my ass in the cold.  
  
So here I am, walking where tourists and even native New Yorkers don't dare to go.  Wandering the streets west of even the most off of the off-off-Broadway theaters and east of the Hudson piers.  Not even the taxis come this way.  
  
In other words, I'm in the perfect place to get jumped.  
  
The only problem is, nobody's taking the bait.  
  
What kind of world am I living in where I can't get myself mugged in a shitty neighborhood?  
  
  
  
000000000000  
  
  
  
The mystery woman from last night has been walking around the same stretch of Hell's Kitchen for the past two hours.  Not that Matt has been following her.  Not exactly.  Just... paying attention.  After all, a private investigator with the kind of abilities that Jessica Jones seems to have deserves his attention.  
  
He's learned all about Ms. Jones since she stayed at the scene of the crime last night to identify herself to the police.  For example, he learned that her office is right here in Hell's Kitchen, that she's working on a case that she refused to discuss and that her paperwork is in order.  She was very insistent about that point.  
  
And it's true.  Her paperwork is in order.  Ms. Jones' is behind on a few bills but her records are clean.  No complaints with the state licensing board.  There are even a few positive reviews on Yelp.  That was as much as JARVIS could find on the Internet.  
  
Her office-slash-apartment gave him additional information.  Jessica Jones is a lousy housekeeper who seems to have a bit of a drinking problem.  Her files weren't on her desk, in her desk or anywhere in the vicinity but Matt is willing to bet they were hidden somewhere that he couldn't find them.  Matt is suitably impressed.  
  
Lousy housekeeper Jessica Jones may be, but he has the feeling she's a damned good detective.    
  
He'll find out for sure when Matt Murdock interviews her tomorrow for work doing investigations for his firm.  After all, Nelson and Murdock can't rely on JARVIS for everything.


	6. Gonna Find Out Who's Naughty and Nice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** Very, very mild spoiler regarding the familial relationship between Trish Walker and Jessica Jones. ****

**Gonna Find Out Who's Naughty and Nice**  
  
  
  
  
  
"What was she like?"  
  
Steve sips his hot chocolate and waits to hear how Peter answers Mary Jane's question about Peggy.  Bucky's eyes meet Steve's and his lips twitch because Bucky always described Peggy as a ball buster.  A silent bet is made by the raising of Steve's eyebrow and accepted by an answering nod by Bucky.  It's as if seventy years and all manner of hell haven't passed between them.  
  
"You know how we read about her in history class and how they portrayed her in those cheesy movies?" Peter begins.  Mary Jane nods and he continues.   "She was so not any of those things.  She was... You know how I said Nick Fury scared the crap out of me?  I bet she scared the crap out of _him_."  
  
Bucky grins triumphantly, declaring himself the winner.  He leans forward and rests his hand on Peter's shoulder, whispering confidentially,  "She scared the crap out of Steve, too.  Even after he was a great big super soldier.  Did you tell 'em how she tested your shield?"  
  
Steve groans.  "No, but now I'm going to have to."  And he does.  It's worth the embarrassment to see Bucky laugh like that.  When they've all finished sharing a laugh at his expense. He asks, "And how was your afternoon, Buck?"  
  
"Mary Jane took me to the Stark Expo exhibit," Bucky says, casting a fond look in her direction.  "Did you know they had a second one in 1964?  And they had Howard's not-quite-flying car there.  He still couldn't get it to fly in 1964."  
  
"We should ask Tony if he ever managed to keep it off the ground," Steve remarks.  
  
Bucky pokes at the plates on his left wrist as he says quietly, "There was a Captain America exhibit.  They had our One-A enlistment forms."  He raises his head and he's smirking.  "Funny enough, the little sign didn't mention what a liar you were, Steve Rogers from Connecticut."  
  
Steve shrugs.  "Apparently, everyone knows now."  He does his Captain America voice as he adds, "It's part of the legend."  
  
Peter and Mary Jane hoot with laughter.  
  
"Tell Steve the best part," Mary Jane orders, elbowing Bucky.  
  
"I'm almost afraid to hear it," Steve says.  
  
Bucky draws himself up.  "We went ice skating after.  There's a rink at the park."  
  
"But you hate the ice!" Peter blurts.  
  
Mary Jane whacks him with a couch cushion.  "I took video of him so you could see how graceful he was."  
  
"She had to take video," Bucky smirks.  "She couldn't stay upright for more than ten seconds at a time."  He flashes a bright smile and takes Mary Jane's hand.  "I'm teasin', doll.  Don't be sore at me."  
  
"How could I be sore at my best guy when he showed me such a swell time?" Mary Jane shoots back.  She laughs at Peter's expression.  "We spoke in 1940s slang all afternoon because we couldn't let you two have all the fun."  
  
"We had a bang up time," Bucky agrees.  
  
They high five.  
  
Mary Jane's phone chirps and she frowns down at it.  "Gotta go, boys.  It's a school night."  
  
"I'll walk you out," Peter says.  
  
"Me, too."  Steve leaps to his feet, ignoring the look Bucky shoots him.  He thinks fast.  "You know, so you can air drop that video of Bucky skating."'  
  
Mary Jane is no fool.  She puts a finger to her lips and beckons Steve and Peter to follow her until they're up the street in front of her house, away from Bucky's enhanced hearing.  Unless he followed them.  Steve can't always tell.   "Okay, Steve.  Spill."  
  
"I know about the scrapbook.  Peter brought it to DC and he gave it to Peggy," Steve says, quietly.  He doesn't bother mentioning that he took out anything that could compromise Peter's identity or Bucky's location.  Things like that go without saying.  "You should have seen her, Mary Jane.  She loved it."  
  
She waves off his justification.  "We've got a couple of weeks to start over and we should be getting those pictures from the National Archives any day now.  I'm pestering JARVIS and God only knows what he's doing."  
  
"Those pictures?"  
  
"No idea.  They're classified so it might not be anything we want to include."  
  
"I'm kind of broke," Peter says forlornly.  "The Christmas tree cleaned me out so --"  
  
"So I'm going to contribute for replacement scrapbook materials," Steve tells them both, pulling out his wallet.  "And I want in.  I have a bunch of sketches I know Buck would love."  
  
Mary Jane pockets the cash without checking the amount.  Smart girl.  "How about putting illustrations on some of the pages?"  
  
"And maybe typing up a couple of your favorite Bucky anecdotes?" Peter adds.  "We can print them on fancy paper or over an image and find photos to go with them.  You know, like pictures of Dodgers tickets and things like that."  
  
Steve stuffs some cash into Peter's shirt pocket.  "That's half for the Christmas tree.  No arguments."  
  
Peter pulls the money out and counts it, then tries to hand some back.  "There's more than half here, Steve."  
  
"Put it towards that fancy photo paper you mentioned and ink," Steve orders him.  He waits until he sees Peter stuff the money into his jeans pocket.  "You two did a really nice job on the first one."  
  
"The three of us are going to do an amazing job with the replacement," Mary Jane says firmly and then she turns to Peter.  "See?  I told you we should have included Steve the first time around.  That's fate, telling you I was right."  
  
"You're always right," Peter recites with the obedient tone of experience.  
  
"Darn tootin'."  Mary Jane grins at them.  "Bucky is going to have his best Christmas ever."  
  
Steve and Peter snap off salutes.  "Ma'am, yes, ma'am."  
  
"You dorks."  
  
  
  
00000000000000000000000  
  
  
  
  
**Way Too Early in Hell's Kitchen**  
  
  
  
Some asshole insisted on calling while I was trying to catch up on my sleep after my late night of not finding Daredevil or Spider-man.  Apparently, the battery in my new phone was really good because the thing kept ringing.  I decided that was my cue to drag my tired ass out of bed and see if I could come up any other bright ideas.  Preferably anything that didn't mean a trip to Queens.    
  
I hear the ding of the elevator and the soft sound of footsteps on the tiles in the hallway.  They pause, which gives me a fleeting moment of hope that whoever it is isn't here to see me.  And then I hear my neighbor, Robyn, giving directions in that loud, condescending voice that makes me want to punch her in her face every time.  
  
A moment later, Robyn is banging on my door.  "She's in there.  She stumbled home at stupid o'clock."  Her voice gets impossibly louder as she yells at my door.  "The entire building heard you come home!"  
  
Scowling, I yank open the door, ready to rip her and whoever she's with a pair of matching new assholes.  Instead, I find myself staring stupidly at a blind guy holding onto her arm and wearing the kind of plastered-on smile that says he can't get away from her fast enough.  
  
Whoever he is, I like him already.  
  
"You must be my eleven o'clock," I say.  
  
"Which would make me over two hours late."  His voice is smooth and there's the faintest hint of laughter there, like we're sharing a private joke.  He lets go of Robyn's arm and unfolds his cane.  "Thank you for your help."  
  
She snorts like he's insulted her somehow.  
  
I resist the urge to slam the door and instead shut it carefully.  And then I realize that the blind guy has no idea where he's going.  "My desk is straight in front of you, about eight yards and there's a couple of chairs just in front of that."  
  
"Thank you."  The cane sweeps back and forth in front of him, the motion somehow elegant.  Everything about the guy is elegant.  He might be blind, but he's wearing a nicely cut grey wool suit and an expensive-looking grey and blue tie with a white shirt.  Everything matches and his shoes are buffed to a high shine.  He's too well-dressed to be one of my clients.  As if he can read my mind, he pauses and half-turns towards me.  "We didn't really have an appointment and I apologize for just showing up unannounced.  I'm Matt Murdock."  
  
"Are you here to sell me life insurance, Matt Murdock?"  I don't think he is.  That suit is too expensive.  I decide he must be a higher life form than an insurance salesman.  
  
He smiles and it's a helluva charming smile.  "I'm here to see if we can do business."  
  
Okay, it wouldn't be the first time I was wrong about judging somebody based solely on their appearance.  Instead of going behind my desk, I stand off to the side, ready to hustle his blind ass right out the door if the wrong words come out of his mouth after I ask, "And what kind of business would that be?"  
  
He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a business card, holding it sort of in my direction.  "I'm a partner in a local law firm.  Nelson and Murdock.  Business is picking up and we're in the market for an investigator."  
  
I wait for him to tell me that someone recommended me.  
  
Instead, he says, "I found your firm on-line and I thought the Yelp reviews were... interesting."  
  
"Which was your favorite?" I ask.  "The one that said how I great I am because I proved my client's wife was a 'cheatin' ho-bag' or the one that said 'even though bitches can't be trusted, Jones got the job done.'"  
  
Murdock's mouth curves into a smile.  "Sounds like a pair glowing recommendations from  satisfied clients."  His cane taps the chair to his right.  "Mind if I sit?"  
  
"No, why would I mind?"  
  
"You're still standing," he points out.  Then he holds up his hand, gesturing.  "Your voice is coming from up here.  If you were sitting it would be coming from about here."  Murdock shrugs but it doesn't come off as self-deprecating as he thinks it does.  "Blind person thing."  
  
We play a little waiting game to see who sits first.  He does and then I follow suit. "What kind of cases do you handle, Murdock?"  
  
"Matt," he corrects me.  
  
For the hell of it, I let him hang for a couple of seconds before I say, "Jessica."  
  
"My daughter's name is Jessica."  
  
I'm not sure whether I'm disappointed or relieved that he's married.  
  
There are polite questions I'm supposed to ask.  I pick the one that will end this topic of conversation the fastest.  "How old is she?"  
  
"Fifteen," Murdock says, surprising me.  
  
"Fifteen?" I echo like an idiot.    
  
Murdock inclines his head slightly.  "She's adopted.  A Battle of New York orphan."  
  
"Your wife was okay with taking in a kid that old?"  It's a rude question but I never claimed to have manners in the first place.  
  
"I'm not married."  His head tilts ever so slightly to the right and he smiles at me.  "And I'm not a pedophile which I'm guessing is your next question.  What I am is an orphan myself.  My father died when I was a little younger than my daughter.  I ended up in St. Agnes, just like my Jessica did."  
  
I'll be looking into that the minute he leaves just like Murdock so obviously looked into me before coming here.  And not just my Yelp reviews, either.  Then again, my life story is easily Googled, at least the part where I was adopted by Dorothy Walker, mother of Patsy -- It's Patsy! -- Walker, who now prefers to be called Trish.  Dorothy made sure the adoption was heavily publicized.  She was thorough like that.  Still, whether he knows it or not, this isn't a talk show and I don't know him.  "Are your clients as sweet and innocent as you are, Matt?"  
  
That earns me a full blown smile, like I've just proven something.  "That's all we represent.  Innocent.   Not always sweet, but definitely innocent.  People with the odds against them who need someone on their side."  
  
"You must have a hell of a bullshit detector if all your clients are innocent."  I give it a second and then I decide to wipe the smirk off his face.  "Or you're a shitty judge of character who doesn't give a damn who you put back on the street."  
  
"Talk is cheap, Jessica," Murdock says.  "Maybe you'd like to find out for yourself whether I've got a top of the line bullshit detector or if I'm so full of shit I can't smell it anymore."  
  
Jesus Christ.  I don't know whether I want to fuck the guy or throw him out on his ass.  "You gonna show me?"  
  
"Come by my office tomorrow morning and I will," Murdock says, getting to his feet.  "And I do mean morning.  I'll be in court from one on."  He turns to leave and then pauses.  "Do you have any references?"  
  
Nobody has _ever_ asked for a reference before.  Then again, my clients are the type who use words like 'ho-bag' and bitch' in their Yelp reviews.  Except for one.  "Jeri Hogarth of Hogarth, Chao and Benowitz."  If he's impressed, it doesn't show.    
  
"And does she have you looking into cheating spouse cases, too?" His tone is light, teasing and that's how I know that he knows exactly who Jeri is.  I wonder if she's ever heard of him.  
  
"That's privileged, Matt.  You wouldn't want me blabbing about the kind of work I do for you, would you?"  I watch as his mouth twitches ever so slightly, like I've passed some kind of test.  "Let's just say I do what investigators do and handle the occasional serving of the summons.  I'm especially good with the slippery ones."  Leaning forward, I ask, "And your references?"  
  
Murdock gives me a slightly sheepish look.  "Just my partner, Foggy Nelson.  I don't think you'd be interested in speaking to our satisfied clients until you determine whether our bullshit detector is properly calibrated."  
  
I shut the door behind him, exhale and then pour myself a stiff drink while I find out whether my own bullshit detector is properly calibrated.   Because, God help me, I think Matt Murdock might actually not be full of it.  
  
  
000000000000000  
  
  
"No, your other left, Stevie!"  
  
Peter stops short and gawks, mouth working wordlessly.  He knew Steve and Bucky were spending the day together while he was at school.  He knew that and he thought that they'd spend the day talking or maybe Steve could coax Bucky into going out for a while.  
  
What Peter didn't expect was to come home to see the pair of super soldiers decorating the outside of the house.  They've clearly been at it for the better part of the day because the house is well and truly festooned with sparkling tinsel garland in just about every color.  Red, silver and blue garland is tightly wrapped around one porch pillar in what Peter is sure led to the tinsel explosion on the front lawn.  
  
Both Bucky and Steve are covered with tinsel bits.  
  
Peter whips out his professional camera and gets off as many photos as he can before they realize he's here and wrap him in garland too.  
  
Steve turns around with an armful of tinsel and a sheepish grin.  "Bucky didn't know that people decorate the outside of houses now."  
  
"Shoulda told me, punk," Bucky declares, jumping down from the roof.  He lands gracefully in front of Peter and drapes garland around Peter's neck.  "What do you think?"  
  
"It's... shiny?" Peter ventures.  
  
Bucky nods proudly.  "We're not done yet.  Stevie and I went back to the Garden Garage and bought a bunch of festive decorations."  
  
"Buck is feeling festive," Steve says and his eyes are dancing with laughter.  "We've been decorating for hours.  But that was after we patrolled the neighborhood and assessed the enemy terrain."  
  
Peter remembers Uncle Ben decorating the house but never to this extent.  Uncle Ben was never one to compete with the neighbors but it looks like Bucky is entering the competition with gusto.  And with Steve's tactical brilliance to help him trounce them soundly.    
  
He can't wait for Aunt May to come home.  



	7. Jingle Bell Time is a Swell Time

**Jingle Bell Time is a Swell Time**  
  
  
  
  
May steps into the house and is greeted by the aroma of something delicious coming from the kitchen and also by Peter, who is wearing a slightly worried expression.  
  
"There were a couple of tinsel wars in between all the decorating," he tells her.  "We cleaned up the lawn though."  
  
She doesn't have the heart to tell him about the tinsel in his hair.  Instead, she gives him a quick hug and then heads into the kitchen where Steve is busily stirring something in one of her pots.    
  
Bucky is at the kitchen counter, slicing carrots with a knife that May is certain was not intended for kitchen use.  He looks up and flashes a huge smile.  "Hi Aunt May!  We're makin' dinner.  Spaghetti and meatballs and I'm on salad duty."  
  
"It's not healthy to eat takeout all the time," Steve intones solemnly.  "Also, it gets expensive."  
  
May doesn't bother to suppress her smile.  It's easy to forget that the young man in front of her is chronologically older than she is. The effect when he says or does something to remind her of that fact is, as always, utterly adorable.  "And here I thought coming home to all of those pretty garlands was surprise enough.  Thank you!"  
  
"I got the semolina bread," Mary Jane announces coming up behind May.  She's out of breath, carrying four large loaves which she hands to Steve.  "Sorry I'm late.  Mrs. Kaminsky didn't get home on time."  
  
"You missed the fun," Bucky tells her.  "We decorated the house this afternoon."  
  
"I love what you did with the garland but why aren't there any lights to show it off?" Mary Jane asks.  
  
Bucky pulls a face.  "I'm not a fan of all that electronic stuff."  
  
"But the lights are so pretty.  Look."  She reaches into her messenger bag and takes out her StarkPad Mini.  With a few deft taps on the screen, she finds what she's searching for and shows it to Bucky.  "See?"  
  
They all watch Bucky's reaction to see the moment it clicks into place.  "Oh," he says.  "Wow.  I didn't know it could look like that."  
  
"Bucky," May asks gently, "would you like to have lights?"  
  
Of course he would but in addition to everything else that informs his personality, Bucky is also every much a product of the Depression as Steve.  "Seems like kind of a waste of electricity."  
  
"If something brings you joy, then it's not a waste," May tells him, resting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently.  It's only when she feels the hardness of the metal under her fingers that she realizes which shoulder she's touching.  Bucky's eyes dart to the hand on his shoulder.  May gently squeezes again, wondering if he can feel it and his eyes return to hers.  The affection in them makes her melt even further.  "And I'm sure you're more than capable of monitoring the electricity usage to make sure we don't go overboard."  
  
Bucky erupts in a smile that's brighter than any light he could possibly buy.  "I can do that."  
  
"I have every faith," May assures him.  
  
"Stevie, know what this means?"  Bucky asks excitedly.  
  
They look at each other and gleefully shout, "Recon!"  
  
"Oh my god, you're such dorks," Mary Jane laughs.  
  
Steve draws himself up and eyes Peter and Mary Jane sternly.  "Night recon commences immediately following evening mess."  He nods at Bucky.  "Sergeant Barnes will be leading the mission."  
  
"The enemy has a bunker on 68th Street that appears especially formidable, according to our earlier intel," Bucky intones.  
  
"I happen to know that there are enemy bases in Bayside and Ozone Park that are heavily fortified with lights, music and those strange inflatable things," May tells them digging out her car keys and handing them to Steve.  "You can borrow my Sherman tank."  
  
Bucky looks crestfallen.  "You're not comin', General Parker?"  
  
All eyes turn to May.  
  
"Just let me change out of my dress uniform and into my stealth gear, Sergeant," May decides, leaning in to kiss his cheek.  Apparently, after years of protesting military action, she's been drafted.  "I wouldn't miss this for the world."  
  
The loud cheers of her unit follow her all the way up the stairs to her bedroom.  
  
  
00000000000000000000  
  
  
  
**Meanwhile in Hell's Kitchen**  
  
  
  
  
Matt Murdock is the real deal, according to Jeri and all the research I did today.  In fact, he's almost too good to be true.  He really did adopt a Battle of New York orphan -- and more importantly, he did it quietly.  No announcements anywhere.  His firm has gone toe to toe with several local slumlords and won.  They don't have an impressive track record yet but the emphasis is on the 'yet'.  And again, Murdock kept it mostly quiet.  He's the first lawyer I've ever seen that's publicity shy.  Or maybe his firm is just too small to be noticed -- and again I qualify that with a 'yet'.  
  
As I walk along Eleventh Avenue, I find myself thinking about the man.  His childhood was at least as screwed up as mine was but in his case, the toxic chemicals took his eyesight instead of giving him super powers.  There but for the grace of a toxic payload go I.  
  
Unless Murdock's faking the blind thing and he's really Daredevil.  
  
Nah, that's crazy.  
  
It's another cold night in Hell's Kitchen and even the rats have the good sense to stay in.  Just as I start thinking about mugging someone myself just to get Daredevil's attention, I hear a high pitched scream.  
  
Music to my frost-bitten ears.  
  
I run the two blocks south to find two really big assholes smacking around a guy that looks like he deserves it.  Not that I'm an expert.  But when I hear what I think are Russian accents coming from the thugs beating on the guy and telling him that he's behind on his payments, I think about turning around and letting nature take its course.  
  
That's when Daredevil shows up.  
  
Finally.  
  
"About goddamned time," I grumble, grabbing one of the Russian giants and throwing him into the garbage cans at the end of the alley.  I don't actually want to get involved but I figure I have a better shot of having a conversation if we have something to bond over.  Like beating the shit out of douchebags in an alley.  I grab the weasel they were beating on and give him a shove to remind him to get the hell out of there.  "Quit gambling and maybe these guys'll quit beating the shit out of you."  
  
Daredevil is busy interrogating his Russian.  "I want a name."  
  
"Fuck you, bro."  This is followed by a torrent of what I think is probably Russian and I'm sure are insults about Daredevil's sexual preferences, intelligence and his mother.  Not in that order.  
  
Because it's a brilliant idea to antagonize a guy dressed up like a devil.  
  
More blows are exchanged, blood starts flowing, bones might even be broken and Daredevil demands a name again.  
  
His new friend gives him other words instead.  This time though, he doesn't sound nearly as sure about it.  
  
They repeat the process twice more and just as I'm considering getting involved to speed things up, the idiot spits out a name.  "Kotlyarsky."  
  
Daredevil rewards him with a vicious punch that knocks him out and then directs his attention to me.  He doesn't say anything.  
  
I roll my eyes as I get a good look at his ridiculous get-up.  "Got a sec?"  
  
Instead of answering me, he leaps straight up into the air, grabbing onto the fire escape ladder and vanishing from sight.  That explains why he's Daredevil instead of Red Devil or something like that.  
  
"Oh no you don't, you slippery motherfucker."  I jump up, bypassing the fire escape altogether and crash land on the roof of the apartment building where he's waiting for me.  Flying is nice in theory but trust me, it's not all that.  I get to my feet and dust the gravel from the knees of my jeans.  "Thanks for waiting."  
  
"You fly."  The guy's a regular fucking Einstein.    
  
"More like jumping.  The landing part's a pain in the ass."  
  
"I noticed."  
  
"Nice outfit," I shoot back.    
  
"It's more about the protection of the body armor than scaring people with the horns," he admits.  "What are you calling yourself?"  
  
And there's my cue.  "I call myself Jessica Jones.  I'm a private investigator."  
  
"You're also the new mask in town --"  
  
"Fuck no," I cut him off.  "You can have all that hero bullshit."  
  
His head cants slightly to the right.  "Weren't you the one who handled that armed robbery at L &L Liquors the other night?"  
  
I snort.  "Because you never showed up!  What was I supposed to do?  Let Indranil get his overcharging head blown off?  I spent the next three hours in an interrogation room with cops up my ass, thank you very much."    
  
"You were looking for me."  It's a statement, not a question, thank God.  
  
I consider making one more sarcastic remark but since I need him, I refrain.  Score one for willpower.  "Like I said, I'm a private investigator.  I'm working on a case and I was hoping you could put me in touch with Spider-man."    
  
Even with the stupid cowl, it's not hard to see that he's taken by surprise.  "Why do you need to talk to him?"  
  
"That's confidential," I tell him because there are no pictures of Daredevil snuggling with the Winter Soldier.  "Can you just let him know Jessica Jones of Alias Investigations needs a word?"  
  
"You went through all this trouble to find me just so I could pass a message on to Spider-man?"  
  
"I didn't want to have to go to Queens," I shrug.  "Do you blame me?"  
  
There's the faintest quirk to his lips.  "All right, Jessica Jones of Alias Investigations.  I'll see what I can do."  With that, he dives over the side of the building and when I lean over to see which way he went, I can't find him.  
  
Hopefully, I never have to find him again.  
  
Three nights of freezing my ass off was enough.  
  
  
  
0000000000000000  
  
  
  
Bucky and Steve are huddled over a sketch of the house, plotting out which kinds of decorations go where when Peter gets the text message from Matt asking him to stop by after school tomorrow.  
  
"Everything okay, punk?" Bucky asks, raising his head.  
  
"Fine," Peter says, leaning over to look at the sketch.  "I'm going to be late coming home tomorrow.  Matt asked if I could come over."  
  
Bucky eyes him suspiciously.  "You sure you're not trying to get out of light installation duty?  
  
Peter peers down at the complicated plan and the list of supplies.  He's suddenly extremely grateful to Matt.  In fact, he's so grateful, he might even do the filing for Jessica.  "Gosh, no."  
  
"Buck," Steve says, smirking at Peter, "considering what you're planning to do, even _I'm_ thinking about how to get out of light installation duty."  
  
Bucky gives him an indignant look.  "I thought you said the plan was sound, Cap."  
  
"It is.  I just didn't tell you it was sane, Sergeant."  Steve winks at Peter.  "It might actually black out the entire neighborhood."  
  
"Stark could build us a mini arc reactor to power it," Bucky suggests.  
  
Steve raises an eyebrow and then nods in agreement.  "Stark probably has much better lights than you could get at the Garden Garage."  
  
With a grin, Steve whips out his cell phone and speed-dials JARVIS while Bucky gives him a thumbs-up of approval.  
  
Peter's mouth drops open.  They're not serious.  They can't be serious.  
  
Except, they are.  
  
He's doomed.


	8. Out of All the Reindeers, You Know You're the Mastermind

**Out of All the Reindeers, You Know You're the Mastermind**  
  
  
  
  
  
It doesn’t surprise Steve when a black Escalade with tinted windows driven by Happy Hogan pulls up in front of the Parker house at precisely nine thirty in the morning.   His exchange of messages with JARVIS the night before pretty much guaranteed a visit by SI employees with the kind of sophisticated holiday decorations that only Tony’s imagination could come up with.  
  
Steve never expected that Tony himself would show up.  Especially when the sun was still up.  
  
“This is where Peter lives?” Tony climbs out of the SUV and stands, hands in pockets, staring at the two story yellow colonial with its white trim.  “It’s so… quaint.”  
  
Bucky is standing in the doorway, keeping a wary eye on Tony.  There’s tension between the two because there is a very strong possibility that the Winter Soldier killed Tony’s parents.  
  
Tony, bless him, has been working very hard to differentiate between the HYDRA-controlled Winter Soldier and Bucky, the World War II hero and Steve's best friend.  “Hey, Murderbot!  Nice job with the tinsel but you left a spot of house visible.”  
  
It’s still a work in progress.  
  
“You’re actually sober for once,” Bucky shoots back.  “And up before tea time.  It’s a Christmas miracle!”  
  
“I was ordered to provide festive decorations by Captain America himself.”  
  
Steve bounds down the steps, waving his hands in warning.  “Shhh!  The neighbors!”  
  
Tony blinks and looks around, as if he’s suddenly registering that he’s on a residential street in Queens and not in his tower.  “Neighbors.  Parker has neighbors.  Interesting.”  With that, he brushes past Steve and then past Bucky, wandering into Peter’s living room.  “JARVIS, I need…  Wait.  Is Parker’s home not set up with JARVIS?”  
  
“Does this place look like it’s set up with JARVIS?” Bucky asks.  “And before you start installing the damn thing –“  
  
“I’d have to renovate the place,” Tony cuts him off.  He narrows his eyes in thought and then brightens, having apparently quickly solved the problem of being stuck in a location without his AI.  “I could probably get that done by the end of the day.  Tomorrow afternoon at the latest –“  
  
“No!” Steve and Bucky say in unison.  
  
Tony blinks and then protests, “It’s like 1987 in here.”  
  
“We have no idea what that means,” Steve tells him, “and you cannot renovate the house without Aunt May’s permission.”  
  
“Killjoy.”  Turning to the Christmas tree, Tony leans in for a closer inspection, smirking when he sees the ornaments with Peter’s childhood photos on them.  “Oh, the kid must _love_ this.”  
  
It’s been less than five minutes and Steve’s temples are already throbbing with a super soldier-sized headache.  
  
Happy quietly hands Tony a large black duffel bag and then retreats into the kitchen.  “I’ll go put on some coffee.”  Whatever Tony pays Happy, Steve is sure it’s not nearly enough.  
  
“Somebody remind me,” Tony says, reaching into the duffel, “did they have WiFi in 1987?”  
  
In less than the blink of an eye, Bucky has the front of Tony’s shirt clutched in his cybernetic fist and is lifting the engineer a foot off the ground.  “You might wanna be a little more respectful when you talk about my home, Stark.”  
  
“I journeyed all the way out to the hinterlands and I brought all sorts of flashy, fun toys just for you, Snuggles, and this is how you repay my generosity?” Tony asks.  If he’s uncomfortable being dangled, it doesn’t show as he pokes at Bucky’s hand, pressing on the metal ring finger.   “When was the last time Parker did a tune up on your death arm?”  
  
Blowing out a frustrated breath, Bucky sets him down.  “The last time you saw him do one.  Why?”  
  
“This doesn’t feel off to you?”  Tony crouches and starts fiddling with Bucky’s cybernetic fingers, bending them this way and that.  “See?  Even without a scan you can tell you’ve lost some range of motion in these two fingers.  Bend your wrist for me.”  
  
To Steve’s everlasting shock, Bucky does.    
  
“What have you been punching lately?” Tony asks.  
  
“Lizard creatures, ooze monsters, a couple of mercs, and climbin’ up walls an’ swingin’ around on webs with borrowed spider powers,” Bucky shrugs nonchalantly.  “The usual.”  
  
“The first three are probably within the original specs,” Tony says, now fiddling with Bucky’s elbow.  “I’m not sure the last two are.  Sure, this was designed for climbing but do you have any idea what kind of strain Peter puts on his shoulders swinging around like that?  I have readings of it, by the way.  His body probably adapted to it but this fancy piece of tech attached to you?  I can guarantee it wasn’t designed to support your weight that way for prolonged –“  
  
“Must’ve been,” Bucky cuts him off.  “HYDRA used to chain me up by my wrists for days and weeks at a time and it always worked just fine after.”  
  
Both Steve and Tony stare at him.  
  
“Then again, I always got hosed off and wiped after those sessions,” Bucky muses.  “They could have done all kinds of repairs before tossing me in cryo that I wouldn't know about.”  
  
Steve’s mouth works but no words come out.  
  
“I stand corrected,” Tony says, finally, plastering on a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.  “You want me to fix it or not?  It’ll take me maybe twenty minutes, tops.  And by then, lunch will be here.  Along with all the supplies necessary to transform your sad little tinsel display into something truly Stark-worthy.”  
  
“Go easy on the Stark-worthiness,” Steve warns.  “We can’t do anything that would compromise Peter’s identity.”  
  
“Peter’s a science nerd, isn’t he?” Tony says, pulling out a small tool kit and opening the plates on Bucky’s wrist.  He flashes a mad scientist grin in Steve’s direction.  “I spent half the night  making top of the line tech look like the kid put it together in his basement so the neighbors wouldn't guess the blindingly obvious.”  
  
“Thank –“ is all Steve can get out before Tony is going on.  
  
“Loved the Avengers-themed porch pillars, Cap.  Don’t think I didn’t notice how far back you hid the red and gold wrapped one.  No worries, by the time I’m done, nobody’s going to notice the boring tinsel.”  He pokes at something and Bucky flinches.  “Damn, that needs to be replaced.  I’m guessing they don’t sell replacement parts at the local Target, either, so I’m going to have to build it for you.”  
  
Bucky peers down.  “How long will that take?”  
  
Tony reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a souped-up StarkPhone.  “JARV, scan that, will ya?  I need a replacement ASAP.  Give me an ETA when you’ve completed your analysis.”  
  
“Is that a –“  
  
“Portable JARVIS.  It’s the only way I can leave the Tower for any period of time without losing my mind.  Seriously, I don’t know how people function.”  
  
Bucky rolls his eyes at Tony. “No kidding.”  
  
“I’ve got my fingers in your arm, Barnes.  It’s not a good idea to mock me.”  Tony winces.  “That sounds a lot more weird now that I’ve said it out loud than it sounded in my head.”  He sighs and closes up the plates.  “Reset yourself, slugger, and let’s see if my temporary fix made a difference.”  
  
They all watch as Bucky’s arm resets, each joint flexing and the plates whirring and then clicking into place.  The process takes a full minute.  
  
“Make a fist,” Tony orders.  He squints and bends Bucky’s wrist.  “It’ll hold but I hate seeing tech working less than perfectly.  You know, I still have those designs for a lighter weight version of this bad boy –“  
  
“Another time, Stark,” Bucky cuts him off.  
  
Tony eyes him.  “Look, the surgery to replace it isn’t as bad as you think –“  
  
“Not now, Tony,” Steve interrupts.  “Why don’t you show us the mock ups for the decorations?  We’d love to see them.”  
  
Tony waggles his eyebrows.  “Show ‘em, JARV.”  
  
And JARVIS does.  
  
  
  
0000000000000000000  
  
  
  
**Later, In Hell’s Kitchen**  
  
  
It's been a very good day.  I finally got in touch with Daredevil and even better, I've been retained by Nelson and Murdock to do some digging into a case they're working on.  The defendant looks as guilty as hell but for some reason both Murdock and his partner, Foggy Nelson are convinced the guy is innocent.  He's been accused of stealing proprietary information from a division of Roxxon and my job is to prove the trail that led to the information on his personal computer was planted.  
  
It's the kind of case that's a total pain in the ass to investigate.  
  
It's also the kind of case Jeri Hogarth will never let me have.  She gives these kinds of cases to her fancy investigation firms with their teams of computer geeks.  I'm not a computer geek and that's not the angle Murdock wants me to look for.  He wants to understand _why_ Roxxon wanted to frame his client.  Apparently, he's got a geek for the rest.  
  
Now _that_ is my kind of case.  
  
I'm nipping at my bottle of bourbon and reading over Murdock's notes from his interview with his client, taking notes and figuring out which threads I might want to pull on first.  My first step is going to be finding out more about Roxxon and what it is they do in their Bioengineering Division.  Maybe I should look up what 'bioengineering' means before I do that.  
  
The knock on the window behind me startles me so badly that I knock the bottle over and manage to grab my files before they get too much bourbon on them.  Cursing, I turn to see Spider-boy waving at me.  
  
"There's a door," I tell him, pointing at it.    
  
"I thought you'd want to be sure you were meeting the real thing," he says.  
  
He has a point.  He's also a lot smaller than he looks in his pictures, except for the infamous #WinterSnuggles photo where he looks tiny compared to the Winter Soldier's ferocious bulk.  "How old are you?"  
  
"Twenty five.  How old are you?"  
  
I snort.  "Twenty five."  
  
Spidey cocks his head to the side and regards me, hands on hips.  "Daredevil said you wanted to speak to me."  
  
"Have a seat."  I gesture to my visitor chairs and head into the kitchen for paper towels to mop up the mess and the Becky Barnes file that I've hidden in the freezer under a bag of frozen peas that have been there since before I moved in.    
  
The kid is still standing when I come back and even with the mask, I can tell he's not too impressed with my office-slash-apartment.  
  
I don't particularly give a shit what a teenager who runs around in his underwear thinks of me so I ignore him in favor of cleaning my desk.  When I feel like I've made the kid wait long enough, I launch into the speech that I'm sure sounds better in my head.  "This isn't about you so much as it is about your friend, Winter Snuggles."  
  
Spidey immediately tenses.  "What about him?"  
  
"Do you know where he is?"  
  
"No," Spidey lies.  
  
"Do you know him?"  
  
"No."  
  
"So you usually go around hugging strange men who've got a reputation for being killing machines?"  Because, he walked right into that one.  "Do your parents know about that?"  
  
Spidey huffs indignantly.  "You --"  
  
"Settle down, kid," I tell him.  "It's nothing nefarious.  I need you to pass a message on to him, is all."  
  
"Who are you?" The kid asks, suspicion creeping into his voice and he takes a step towards me, hands curling into fists at his side.  "Who do you work for?"  
  
Ordinarily, this is where I'd tell him that the name of my client is confidential but I've already cleared disclosing her name with Becky Barnes.  "His sister."  
  
There's a moment where the kid goes rigid and I think he might actually take a swing at me.  Then he steps back and folds his arms across his chest, saying distrustfully, "Prove it."  
  
I hand him the case file and sit back on the edge of my desk and watch as he starts going through it.    
  
"Sh-she's alive?"  
  
I show him the photo on my cell phone.  "And she wants to see her brother."  
  
He takes the phone from my hands and stares down at it.  "Where is she?"  
  
"Where is _he_?" I counter.  "Or are you still clinging to the fiction that you don't know him?"  
  
"I might know where he is," Spidey admits.  
  
No kidding.  "And would you be able to get the message to him?"  
  
There's a long pause while he actually _thinks it ove_ r.  His shoulders slump slightly.  "It's complicated," he says finally.  "I-I can't say why.  It just is.  Can I come back tomorrow and let you know?"  
  
"Will you use the door?"  
  
"Can I have a copy of his sister's picture?"  
  
"Sorry no printer," I shrug, "But if you give me your cell number I can text it to you."  Take that, you secretive squirrelly little bastard.  
  
Spidey blows out a frustrated breath, raises an index finger to argue with me some more and then stops.  "Send it to my lawyer --"  
  
"You have a lawyer?"  
  
"I saved him from a pack of muggers and he said if I ever needed a favor, he'd help me out," the kid says.  "His name is Foggy Nelson."  
  
Having met Foggy Nelson, I had no doubt the kid probably _did_ rescue him from a pack of muggers.  Otherwise, I might be questioning that little bit of kismet.  Great.  Now I'm having paranoid thoughts.  This is what I get for hanging around with the mask and cape crowd.   "You sure you want to waste your get out of jail free card for a picture of the Winter Sister?"  
  
Spidey inhales sharply.  "Don't."  He's practically vibrating with tension now.  "You don't know him.  You don't know anything about him."  
  
Not only can Spidey get a message to Winter Snuggles but I'm starting to think the two of them might be bunking together, the way the kid is reacting.  I send the picture to Nelson and tell him that Spidey is on his way to get a copy of it and the rest is confidential.  Then I show the kid the message.  "What time should I expect you?"  
  
"Same time as today," he says, opening my window and there's a thwipping sound as he shoots a web.  
  
"Use the door," I call after him, but it's too late.  He's gone.

 


	9. I Remember When You Were Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****Warning: Lots of feels ahead *****
> 
> I'm building a Tumblr site. Hit me up at MsBrooklynfanfic while I figure out what the heck I'm doing.

**I Remember When You Were Here**  
  
  
  
  
"She was telling the truth," Matt greets Peter when he swings gracefully up onto the rooftop of the building two blocks from Jessica's office.    
  
"I know," Peter says hoarsely.  "The woman in the picture has Bucky's eyes."  
  
One of the advantages of raising the female clone of Peter Parker is that Matt is more attuned to Peter's emotional state than he's ever been.  And right now, Peter's emotions are all over the place.  He places a steadying hand on each of the boy's slender shoulders, kneading gently.  "You're worried that Bucky can't handle finding out she's still alive."  
  
"Yes!"  Peter sucks in a ragged breath.  "A-and...  I'm kicking myself for not thinking to look her up.  Bucky mentioned her a few times and Steve never said anything so I figured he already did and she was dead.  It never occurred to me that she might still be alive.  And then I think that Steve never asked, which makes me kind of mad at him but then I saw what happened with Peggy and... Ugh!"  
  
Matt perches on the HVAC unit, settling in for what's likely to be a long discussion until Peter's calm.  "Peggy?  As in Carter?"  
  
"She's in a nursing home," Peter explains, starting to pace along the rooftop.  "She has Alzheimer's and she had some kind of... The supervisor there described it as a miracle and it was.  Peggy woke up the other day and she was completely there and even though she thought it was the 1970s, she kept demanding to see Steve.  He brought me to meet her."  Pulling off his mask, Peter rubs his face.  "We spent the day with her and you should have seen it, Matt.  They were so in love with each other and...  I never got how hard it is for Steve until then.  How much he must be hurting inside because everything went on without him.  And Bucky probably feels the same way, maybe even worse and here I am sitting on this piece of information that's going to tear him to pieces."  
  
One of the lessons Matt learned early on in his Trial Techniques class is that when examining a witness, a lawyer should never ask a question unless he knows how the witness will answer.  "What are you going to do?"  
  
Peter stops pacing.  "It's not my place to withhold the information.  I just don't know how I'm going to tell him."  He sighs, toying with his mask.  "Would it be wrong to tell Steve first?"  
  
"Considering he's had longer to adjust to news like this," Matt says slowly, "I think that's the best way to approach it."  
  
"Great," Peter mutters, "now I have to figure out what to say to Steve."  
  
Matt gets up, crosses the rooftop and gives Peter a hug.  "I think you handled everything very well so far.  Especially having the picture sent to Foggy.  Let's go pick that up and if you'd like to stay for dinner --"  
  
"Ugh!  Dinner!"  Peter groans and smacks his forehead with the heel of his hand.  "The lights!  I have to get home.  Steve is staying over this week and Bucky's obsessed with Christmas decorations and he got Tony to come over to do something that's probably going to out me as Spidey --"  
  
"Breathe," Matt says gently.  "Steve is staying with you?"  
  
"Bucky's having a really good week."  There's pride in his voice when he adds, "He wanted a Christmas tree and decorations and he's just been so happy that Steve _had_ to stay.  Aunt May pretty much abducted him.  I'm not sure if she's ever going to let him leave, either."  
  
Now Peter's reaction to the information about Rebecca Barnes makes much more sense.  "Jess and I could come with you.  She's busy studying for finals but I'm sure a few hours won't hurt anything.  I could talk to Steve for you, if that would be easier."  
  
"He'll probably have a million questions for you about that Jessica Jones lady," Peter tells him.  "I mean, I do too.  How the heck did she find you?"  
  
"Not easily," Matt smirks.  "But she's not the bad guy in all this.  The only thing we need to do is make sure she's not being manipulated by HYDRA or any of the other groups that want to hurt Bucky.  JARVIS can help me with that and when you come back tomorrow, I'll have more information for you."  
  
Peter grabs Matt in a hug that would be surprisingly strong if he didn't know that Peter was as strong as Steve.  "I don't say this enough, Matt.  I love you."  
  
"I love you, too, Peter."  He wonders if it's possible _not_ to love this young man who wears his heart on his sleeve.    
  
  
  
000000000000000  
  
  
  
  
"Where were you?" Bucky demands as a dazed Peter lets himself into the house.  "You missed dinner."  
  
"We saved some for you," Steve says, coming to Peter's rescue.  "Aunt May went to the movies with Mary Jane's mother."  
  
Bucky brushes Steve aside and immediately starts inspecting the boy for injuries.  Peter stays still and waits until Bucky is finished.  "You're not hurt, Petey, so what's wrong?  Did something happen with Matt?"  
  
"No," Peter says quickly.  "It's Jessica's first Christmas with him and he usually doesn't get a tree, you know, because he can't see it but he thought maybe he should.  You know, because she remembers...  And then I starting thinking about Uncle Ben and...  I wanted some time by myself."  He gives Bucky a fierce hug.  "I'm so glad you're here, Bucky."  
  
"Thanks, punk."  Bucky catches Steve's eye over Peter's head and they silently agree that neither of them completely buys what Peter is selling.  "What'd you think of the lights?"  
  
"We won the light war," Peter tells him.    
  
"There's music, too."  
  
"I had to talk Tony out of using holograms," Steve adds.  "It was a near thing, though."  
  
Peter shifts from one foot to the other.  "Um, I've got homework, so, um...  Steve, you mind if I use my room for a little while?"  
  
"Dinner," Bucky reminds him.  
  
"I'm not hungry."  
  
Bucky's eyes narrow.  "You have to eat."  
  
"Go on upstairs," Steve tells the boy.  "I'll bring you a sandwich."  
  
"Thanks, Steve.  See you in a little while, Bucky."  Peter dashes up the stairs.  
  
Bucky rolls his eyes.  "He needs more than a sandwich."  
  
"He's not hungry, Buck."  
  
"That kid is always hungry."  Blowing out a frustrated sigh, Bucky shakes his head.  "Something happened."  
  
"Why do you think I offered to bring him a sandwich?"  Steve heads into the kitchen and gets a plate while Bucky goes to the refrigerator for the cold cuts.  "Quiet is not Peter's natural state."  
  
"Amen."  Under Bucky's watchful eye, Steve loads the sandwich with roast beef and adds some carrot and celery sticks to the plate.    
  
"Don't worry, Buck.  I've got this," Steve promises with a wink and heads upstairs with the Peter's meal.    
  
Peter slams his laptop shut when Steve comes into the room.  "Oh, uh.  Hi."  
  
"Hi."  Without being asked, Steve shuts the door and perches on the edge of Peter's bed.  "We can go around for a while if that's what you really want but you know you're going to tell me what's bothering you eventually.  And if not me, then you're going to end up telling Bucky."  
  
The look of panic on Peter's face when Steve mentions Bucky is alarming.  
  
"Peter, what --"  
  
Peter holds up a finger, silencing Steve and then thrusts a sticky note at him.   It reads, 'We need to talk.  In private.'  
  
The boy goes to the window, opens it and peers carefully outside before leaping to the ground below.  Steve waits a beat and then follows.  They walk in silence until they've arrived at a small park a few blocks from the Parker home.  
  
Peter squints into the darkness.  "Did Bucky follow us?"  
  
If Steve wasn't worried before, he is now.  "No."  
  
"I need to ask you something," Peter begins.  He stops and takes a deep breath.  "I'm not trying to be mean or anything.  I just...  It's important, okay?  And it's going to sound like I'm accusing you and I'm not.  I just need to know --"  
  
"Peter, you have to calm down."  
  
"Did you ever check to see if Bucky's sister was alive?"  
  
The question hits Steve like a punch in the gut.  For a moment, he can't breathe.  "Is that what you were doing?  Trying to find Becca?"  
  
"You never asked --"  
  
"Peter, you don't understand --"  
  
"You think I don't?" Peter interrupts.  "I mean, yeah, I can't.  Not on the scale you're dealing with.  But seeing you with Peggy?  I get it."  He takes a deep breath and rests a hand on Steve's upper arm.  "I get it.  You couldn't bring yourself to do it."  
  
"No," Steve admits, with a mixture of relief and embarrassment.  Before he can say anything else, Peter speaks again.  
  
"Becca hired a private investigator to find Bucky.  She found Matt and asked him to put her in touch with me."  He peers up at Steve, expression troubled as he pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket.  "Here's what she looks like today."  
  
It's definitely Becca.  Even with the passage of time, Steve recognizes her almost instantly.    
  
"I told her I'd speak to her tomorrow.  Matt's checking to make sure this isn't a trap by HYDRA or anybody else."  Peter runs a hand through his hair.  "Bucky's been so happy lately, Steve.  I'm worried about how he's going to handle this when we tell him."  
  
When.  Not if.  Steve is reminded once again of how proud he is of Peter.  
  
"Steve, _how_ do we tell him?"  
  
"I think," Steve says slowly, turning around, "we just did.  Hi, Buck."  
  
  
  
000000000000000  
  
"I-I can explain," Peter stammers.  Of all the ways for Bucky to find out about his sister, this was one that never occurred to him.  "Please, Bucky, let me explain."  
  
Bucky snatches the copy of his sister's picture from Steve's hand, frowning down at it.    
  
"I have more pictures," Peter offers, suddenly grateful to that weird Jessica Jones woman for forwarding those to Foggy too.  "From when you were kids."  
  
Steve's hand curls over Peter's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.  
  
"Please don't be mad," Peter begs.  "Bucky, please, I'm sorry, I just... I didn't..."  
  
"You little punk," Bucky says.  He positions himself directly in front of Peter who looks up at him and swallows nervously.  "Tryin' to protect me.  Again."  He grabs Peter and hugs him hard.  
  
"Y-you're not angry?"  
  
"Why should I be angry at the two of you for sneakin' around behind my back trying to decide how to tell me that my sister who I barely remember and don't recognize is still alive?" Bucky asks.  "Who I'm angry at is me.  I sort of remembered her and it didn't occur to _me_ to ask if she was dead or not."  
  
"The more important question," Steve says, "is whether you want to see her."  
  
The plates on Bucky's arm click and whir, reflecting whatever turmoil is going on inside of him.  "She wants to see me, right?  She hired a private investigator."  
  
"But what do _you_ want?" Peter presses.    
  
"She's so old," Bucky says, looking down at the picture again.  
  
" _You're_ supposed to be that old," Steve points out.  "Older even."  
  
"Dead."  
  
"That, too." 

Bucky folds the paper and tucks it into his pocket.  "Must've been something, her finding out I'm still alive."

Steve rocks back on his heels.  "Speaking from experience, I'd say it was probably something of a shock.  Since Becca's looking for you, I'm guessing she's over it by now."  
  
Bucky nods, expression thoughtful.  "I want to see her," he says, finally.  "But I want you two to come with me."  
  
"When you put it that way," Peter say, throwing his arms around Bucky and finally relaxing when Bucky hugs him back, "how could we refuse?"

 


	10. No Matter How Far Away You Roam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's alive! My Tumblr site is up and running. Come visit me! https://www.tumblr.com/blog/msbrooklynfanfic

**No Matter How Far Away You Roam**  
  
  
  
**Way the Hell Too Early in Hell's Kitchen**  
  
  
"Jessica Jones?" Captain America is standing in my doorway.  It was only a matter of time before he showed up, I figure and I step aside to let him in.  If the poster boy for truth, justice and apple pie is in any way less than impressed by my less than glamorous office space, it doesn't show.  In fact, he seems to be _fascinated_ by my crappy bargain basement decor.  He waits until I've shut the door and joined him by my desk before he extends a hand.  "I'm Steve Rogers."  
  
"It's nice to meet you."  And it really would be, I think, if it weren't 9:04 am and I'd gotten more than two hours of sleep. But it is and I didn't and I'm crankier than hell after a night of chasing all over Manhattan after a guy who absolutely, positively did not want to be served with a summons.  Too damn bad.  I served his ass but good.  
  
Rogers eyeballs my office some more and then makes an attempt at small talk.  He flashes the charming smile I've seen on magazine covers.  If I'd seen him on the street, I'd never have recognized him in the battered blue baseball cap and well-broken in leather jacket he's wearing.  He looks more like Captain Gym Rat than Captain America, except for that smile.  "I loved detective stories when I was a kid.  Still do --"  
  
"This is the best I can afford right now," I cut him off.  "I'm a start-up, not living out some Raymond Chandler fantasy."  
  
We lock stares and that's when I get to see the real person instead of America's golden boy.  The aw-shucks grin fades, becoming something more intense.  I'm not looking at the guy next door; I'm seeing the guy who helped us win World War II and kicked alien ass.   "I understand you've been looking for a friend of mine."  
  
I lean against the edge of my desk.  "And I can tell by the way you're saying that, you're thinking, 'why didn't she just call the Avengers and leave me a voicemail instead of playing telephone with a guy dressed up like a devil and a kid who runs around in his pajamas?'"  
  
"The shortest distance between two --" he begins.  
  
"Is not through your automated directory," I cut him off.  "You think Becky Barnes didn't try that?  Hell, I tried it myself and I'm pretty sure I'd be Becky's age by the time I got through.  If that thing ever lets mere mortals leave a voicemail."  
  
"Stark," Rogers sighs wearily and I get the sense that's a typical refrain for him.  He takes off his blue ball cap to run a hand through his hair and then regards me with his patriotic big blues.  "I haven't heard of you."  
  
"Eight million people in the naked city," I shrug.  "You probably haven't heard of most of them."  
  
"You're not like the eight million others."  
  
"Really?"  I gesture to our surroundings.  "Because I live and work in squalor?  I hate to break it to you --"  
  
"Compared to where I grew up, this is a luxury apartment."  He looks around.  "At least you have your own bathroom.  The tenement I grew up in, we shared with the other people on the floor."  Rogers folds his arms across his chest and the leather of his jacket creaks with the movement.  It's impossible not to notice how broad and muscular that chest is and since he's showing it off, I give it the attention it deserves.  Rogers catches me looking and his eyes narrow slightly as he says with the faintest trace of irritation, "I was referring to your extracurricular activities."  
  
"There are no extracurricular activities," I shoot back with more than a faint trace of irritation -- hell, a lot of irritation --  making air quotes around the last two words.  "I'm a private investigator.   That's it."  
  
There's a moment where I think he's going to pursue the topic but instead he stares hard at me, takes a deep breath and changes the subject.  When he speaks again, he's back to being polite.  "What exactly did you promise Becca?"  
  
Now we're getting into it.  I mirror his tone.  "That I'd find her brother.  So far, I've talked to people who seem to know where he is, but I haven't laid eyes on him myself."    
  
"You're not going to," Rogers tells me.  "The fewer people who see him, the better."  
  
"You know where he is."  
  
"I do."  
  
For the hell of it, I decide to needle him a little.  "He's living in Spider-kid's basement, huh?"  
  
There's the slightest flaring of his nostrils and widening of his eyes that tells me I'm not far off.  "His whereabouts aren't important."  
  
"They are if I'm going to get paid," I counter.  
  
Rogers reaches into his pocket and pulls out an impressive roll of bills.  "How much is Becca supposed to pay you?"  
  
"It doesn't work like that," I say and there's a tiny part of me that's kicking myself for being ethical.  "She hired me.  You don't get to come in here and pay me to go away."  And then I start getting pissed off on Becky Barnes' behalf. "And fuck you very much for entertaining the thought!  The woman wants to see her brother before she kicks it and she's going to, even if I have to go through you and every goddamn Avenger to make it happen!"  
  
There's a moment where we stare at each other and all I can think is that I just told Captain America to go fuck himself.  
  
"I'm sorry," Rogers says and damn if he doesn't actually look sorry.  "I'm not being clear."  
  
I consider apologizing but decide it can wait until he either digs himself out or goes in further.  
  
His expression is unbelievably earnest now.  "I'm not paying you to go away.  At least, not in the way you think.  There are a lot of people besides you looking for Buck and their reasons are a lot less altruistic.   While it's nice to know you have certain... abilities, I'd rather you didn't make yourself a target for them."  
  
"And by 'them' you mean HYDRA?" I ask.  That's my way of letting him know I did my homework on this case and have a pretty good idea of what I've gotten myself into, thank you very much.  
  
Rogers nods.  "HYDRA, AIM and a dozen other splinter groups, not to mention foreign governments who'd all like a piece of the Winter Soldier.  Once you get on their radar, you don't come off.  I imagine that might make life as a private investigator with no extracurricular activities rather difficult."  
  
Okay, he just dug himself out of that hole.  Now it's my turn so I throw him a crumb.  "I did a background check on Becky Barnes.  She's the real deal."  
  
"Do you always do background checks on your clients?" Rogers asks me.  
  
"I learned the hard way why that's a good idea," I tell him.  
  
Rogers' arms drop to his sides, but he's still not relaxed.  "I had my people do some research too.  Rebecca Barnes Proctor of Spring Valley, New York is definitely the real deal.  She's also under surveillance by SHIELD and other interested parties."  
  
That's Rogers' way of letting me know he could have just gone around me for this reunion.  It's also his way of letting me know that I've stumbled into something that I probably don't want to be involved in, just like he hinted a moment ago.  I don't care.  Becky Barnes got to me and she _deserves_ to see her brother before she dies.  "Are you going to let her see him?"  
  
"He wants to see her," Rogers says.  He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket like he suddenly doesn't know what to do with them.  "Tell her that.  You should also tell her that..."  His eyes close briefly, like he's struggling to find the right words.  "He doesn't remember her much.  HYDRA tampered with his memory."  
  
"Is he dangerous?"  
  
"No!"  Rogers' eyes flash with righteous indignation and then he sort of deflates because he has to know that's a reasonable question.  "Not anymore."  
  
"Not anymore or not unless provoked?"  
  
"Do you really want the answer to that question, Miss Jones?"  He doesn't bother waiting for my answer and instead pulls out the roll of cash again.  "Let me settle up her bill and give you an advance on the work you're about to do for me."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"I'm hiring you to work with my people to arrange the meeting," Rogers tells me.  "Pepper Potts  will be contacting you later.  She's going to determine whether it's safe to have the reunion at Becca's home or if it's feasible to move Becca to an alternate location."  
  
I gape at him like I'm a total moron.  "The CEO of Stark Industries is going to call me?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
There really isn't much to do except pull out my time sheets for the Barnes case and a fresh client agreement for Steve Rogers.    
  
The Becky Barnes case is coming to close.  I just hope it's a happy one.  
  
  
000000000000000  
  
  
  
May is shrugging into her coat when she notices Bucky sitting on the sofa.  He's staring at the picture of his sister with a forlorn expression that just about breaks May's heart.  She sets her coat and purse down and decides she can live with the consequences of being late to work.  It's December and things are slow at Capital, Inc.  Besides, it's another gridlock alert day across the five boroughs and _nobody_ has been in on time all week.  
  
May settles down beside Bucky on the sofa and gently tucks his hair behind his ear.  "Peter was right.  She has your eyes."  
  
He looks up at her.  "I don't remember her.  Not really.  Not like she's expecting --"  
  
"Bucky, you don't know what she's expecting," May chides him.    
  
"She's expecting the Bucky she knew and I'm not him," Bucky says, voice rough.  
  
May reaches out and takes both of his hands in hers.  The self-conscious way his eyes tick down to his left hand and then back to her face doesn't escape her notice.  "Aren't you?"  
  
"HYDRA --"  
  
"Took many things from you," May agrees, "but they didn't take who you are, the man your sister remembers.  Do you know how I know this is true?"  
  
Bucky looks at her and shakes his head.  
  
"I know because one of the first things you did when you came back to yourself was to protect Peter."   May squeezes both of his hands in hers.  "The Bucky I've come to know and love is kind and caring. He's protective of his family and friends.  He loves fiercely and with his whole heart.  Steve remembers you being all those things from before.  That's how I know that whatever else was taken, HYDRA couldn't take the man you were.  The man you are.  That's how I know you're exactly the man your sister expects to see.  And you may not remember much about your sister but don't you remember how much you love her?"  
  
Bucky stares at her as if she's just hung the moon.  "How do you do that?  How do you always know what to say?"  
  
"It's easy," May tells him.  "I speak from my heart."  
  
"I love you Aunt May," Bucky says, pulling her into a hug.  When they break apart, he's looking at her almost shyly.  "Will you come with me?  I want my sister to meet my family."  
  
Want.    
  
May never understood the power of that word until she learned about what HYDRA did to Bucky.  She doubts she's ever going to be able to refuse him anything. "Of course I will, sweetheart."  
  
If they dock her pay for being late, it won't matter.  Some things in life, like the smile on Bucky's face, are worth it.  
  
  
  
  
00000000000000  
  
  
  
"I had no idea what I was getting us into when I suggested we make a scrapbook for Bucky," Mary Jane says, poking at the mystery meat in her cafeteria lunch.  "It's turning into an ongoing commitment and at the rate we're going, it won't be a surprise when we finally give him his."  
  
Peter pulls out the sandwiches Steve made for him and hands one to Mary Jane.  "His sister should have pictures that aren't of him shooting up Washington, DC or from HYDRA's files."  
  
"Pictures of him ice skating."  
  
"Decorating the tree."  To make his point, Peter shows her the photo of Bucky putting the star at the top of the tree.    
  
"And you'll take loads of pictures of the two of them," Mary Jane says.  
  
Peter nods in agreement.  "I'm hoping she has some more pictures from when they were kids like the two we got from that Jessica Jones person."  
  
"Do you think she's ever seen the ones from the National Archives?  He looks like a movie star in those Army publicity photos."  Mary Jane takes a bite of the sandwich.  "This is great."  
  
"Steve made it."  
  
"Not Bucky?"  
  
"I have two dads," Peter shrugs, "and they seem to be competing over who can feed me better and more often."  
  
"And you hate that," Mary Jane teases.  "I can tell."  
  
"It's torture."  Peter thumbs through the images to the set JARVIS finally obtained from the National Archives.  "I wonder if Steve ever saw these publicity stills of the Howling Commandos."  
  
Mary Jane looks thoughtful.  "You know --"  
  
"Don't say it."  
  
"He'd probably love a scrapbook of all your Bucky pictures."  
  
"And all of yours."  
  
They look at each other and nod in agreement.  
  
"I've been researching," Mary Jane says, showing Peter her phone, "and I found a place in Brooklyn that sells handmade leather bound scrapbooks.  They'll even emboss them.  Or we could try to find vintage 1930s ones online."  
  
"Matching leather ones," Peter decides, looking at the Etsy page.  "These look like something Steve would have on his bookshelf."  He's going to need to take some photos for the Bugle very soon.    
  
A throat clears noisily behind Peter and then Kong drops into the seat next to him.  "Hey."  
  
"Hey," Peter says warily.  
  
Kong scratches at his chin.  "How are your cousin and Captain Rothstein enjoying the tree?"  
  
"Rothstein?" Mary Jane echoes, smirking.  
  
Peter shoots her a look and then narrows his eyes at Kong.  "They like it just fine."  
  
"Good."  Kong shifts uncomfortably in his seat.  "Look, I'm not saying anything to anyone about... you know.  I just wanted you to know that I know and that you could trust me."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"I'm here if you want to talk."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"We all know," Kong says.  "I mean, we've all gone to school together since first grade.  That's like, our whole lives.  I was there when the spider bit you and when those freaks attacked the school.  Every time they attacked the school.  Including your cousin who's not Bucky Barnes.  You can pretend if that's what you need to do but I wanted you to know that I know."  
  
Peter buries his face in his hand.  "Who else knows?"  
  
"Everyone.  Probably."  
  
Peter raises his head.  "Including Flash?"  
  
"Flash is in denial."  
  
"Flash is in denial about a lot of things," Mary Jane says.  
  
Kong grins and shrugs.  "He is who he is."  He clears his throat again and rummages in his jacket pocket.  A moment later, he pulls out a tissue paper wrapped object and hands it to Peter.  "I thought your cousin Bucky might like this.  It's from, like, the Depression."  
  
Peter carefully unwraps the paper to find a glass ornament shaped like a swan.  It's definitely an antique and he knows immediately that Bucky is going to love it.  
  
"It belonged to my grandparents," Kong explains.  
  
"I-I can't take something that belonged to --"  
  
"It's not for you," Kong says, getting to his feet.  "It's for your cousin and his war buddy, Captain Rothstein."  
  
Mary Jane snorts and covers her face with her hand.  "I can't with this.  I just can't."  
  
Kong looks down at Peter.  "My grandpa used to tell us this story about how Captain America and the Howling Commandos rescued his unit from a POW camp.  I think he'd want Captain Rothstein and Sergeant Reilly to have the ornament."  
  
They watch him walk away.  
  
"You realize you're going to have to invite him over," Mary Jane says finally.  
  
"Fine," Peter grumbles, "but I'm not making him a scrapbook."

 

 


	11. It's a Marshmallow World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Tooth rotting fluff dead ahead.

**It's a Marshmallow World**  
  
  
  
  
  
Peter has two dads.    
  
Mary Jane and the rest of the gang joke about it but the thing is, it's totally true.  It's never been more obvious than now because both Bucky _and_ Steve are waiting for Peter at the front door when he comes home.  The sight of the matching smiles on their faces could only be topped if one of them was wearing a frilly apron.  It's that domestically adorable.  
  
"How was school?" Bucky asks Peter.  "You stayed the full day, right?  No sneaking out to fight crime."  
  
"Hi Mary Jane," Steve says.  "There are snacks in the kitchen."  
  
Mary Jane doesn't even bother hiding her smile when she looks over at Peter.  "Don't you dare complain.  You know you love this.  _I_ love this."  
  
"I do," Peter assures her and then he peers earnestly up at Bucky.  "No sneaking out today."  
  
"Good boy."  Bucky ruffles his hair affectionately.  "You paid attention?  No fallin' asleep or sassin' your teachers?"  
  
"He was a perfect gentleman," Mary Jane tells him.  "And believe me, I keep track."  
  
Bucky winks at her.  "I know you do."  
  
"Hey," Peter protests.  "You're supposed to be on _my_ side."  
  
"I am."  And just to have fun and maybe be a little bit of a kiss-ass, she says, "Peter got an A on his essay for English class."  
  
"Oh my God," Peter groans, burying his blushing face in his hand.  "Cut it out!"  
  
"Good job," Steve praises him.  
  
Peter sighs and shakes his head. "It's not really a big deal, Steve.  I always get As."  
  
"As you should," Bucky says firmly.  "You're a smart kid."  
  
Mary Jane elbows Peter sharply.  "Quit pretending to be embarrassed and give Bucky the thing."  
  
"I'm not pretending.  I really am embarrassed."  
  
She rolls her eyes.  "You love it when they make a big deal over you and you know it.  Now give it to him."  
  
Bucky and Steve exchange looks and of course it's Bucky whose eyes narrow at Peter.  "Do I need to be worried, Petey?"  
  
"No," Peter says slowly as he carefully takes the tissue paper wrapped ornament out of his pocket.  He kept it locked in his locker all afternoon, cocooned in his jacket and he carried it home as if it were a priceless Faberge egg.  "Remember my, uh, friend Kong?  You met him at the Garden Garage."  
  
Bucky snorts derisively.  "The lunkhead."  
  
"Well, the lunkhead asked me to give this to you."  Peter hands him the ornament.  
  
Bucky eyes it but makes no move to unwrap it.  "What is it?  An IED?"  
  
Peter rolls his eyes and so does Mary Jane.  
  
With a resigned sigh, Bucky unwraps the tissue paper and then his eyes go wide as he breathes, "Oh."  
  
Steve peers over Bucky's shoulder and there's a look on his face that Mary Jane has come to recognize as the herald of a bout of extreme nostalgia.  "Remember these, Buck?"  
  
"I feel like I should..."  Bucky's finger carefully traces the shape of the swan.  
  
"The best ornaments were made in Germany," Steve explains.  "They were hand blown and hand painted.  At first, shops were reluctant to stock them because of the way people felt about Germany after the Great War.  And then, when Hitler took power, people got rid of them altogether.  The swans were very popular."  
  
"Did my..."  Bucky swallows and tries again.  "Did we have one?"  
  
Steve shakes his head.  "Your father refused to let anything from Germany into your house but you and I used to look at them in shop window displays.  Then, when you and I lived together, Christmas ornaments weren't part of the budget."  
  
"Medicine for Steve, rent, food, and money to show the dames a good time," Bucky recites, looking pleased with himself for remembering.  "That was the budget."  
  
"That it was," Steve agrees, smiling "though there usually wasn't much left for all your girls, Buck.  Not that it slowed you down any."   He eyes Peter and Mary Jane.  "Bucky was the king of being able to sneak into dances and cadge free drinks."  
  
Bucky is blushing slightly as he makes his way over to the tree.  He studies it thoughtfully and then hangs the swan from a high branch where it will be immediately noticeable from any angle.  "Tell the lunkhead I said thanks."  
  
"The lunkhead's name is Kenny," Mary Jane scolds him.  "And he's Peter's friend who you should invite over and be nice to.  Which means not calling him a lunkhead."  
  
"Besides," Peter sighs, "he knows who we all are."  
  
Mary Jane puts her hands on her hips and gives him her sternest look.  "He hasn't told anybody."  
  
"So far."  
  
"He hasn't," she insists.  "And he won't.  He wants to be your friend."  And then she pulls out the big gun.  "You're the one who wanted to be his friend first."  
  
Peter blushes hard.  "I was going through stuff."  
  
"And wasn't he a good friend to you, letting you stay over when you --?"  
  
"Had that bad day?" Peter cuts her off before she can spill the beans about how he had a fight with his uncle about the basketball team and his grades and ran away from home for a couple of days.  "Fine.  He was a good friend."  
  
"Was that so hard?" Mary Jane asks.  
  
"Yes!"  Peter starts pacing the living room, flapping his arms in frustration.  "I'm trying to keep a friggin' secret identity here!  No one respects my secret identity!  No one!!  One secret!  That's all I want!  I want to put on my mask and keep it on for a change!  And what happens?  Every time I turn around, somebody else knows I'm Spider-man!"  
  
"Then next time, don't get bit by a super spider in front of the whole class," Mary Jane shrugs while Steve and Bucky cover up their smiles.  "Now get your coat, tiger.  We have Christmas stuff to do."  
  
Bucky grabs Peter's arm.  "Not so fast, Romeo.  Snack first."  
  
"A healthy snack," Steve puts in.  
  
"But --"  
  
"Stevie and I need between six and eight thousand calories a day," Bucky lectures.  "You're a growin' kid and Banner estimates you need between eight and ten thousand.  Stevie and me figured out that you've only been eating around four if we don't ride your ass about proper nutrition."  
  
Peter throws a deer-in-headlights look in Mary Jane's direction.  "Help..."  
  
"Kitchen," Steve orders.  "Now, punk.  You've only had three thousand calories today."  
  
Peter heaves a resigned sigh.  "I have two dads."  
  
Steve and Bucky beam and then hustle him into the kitchen.  
  
The three of them are _such_ dorks.  
  
  
  
00000000000000000000000  
  
  
  
"I need a favor," Peter says shifting nervously from foot to foot as he stands in front of Matt's desk.  "Feel free to say no.  In fact, I feel really weird asking.  Just...  You know, never mind."  
  
Matt leans back in his chair, half focusing on Peter and half focusing on Mary Jane and Jessica gossiping in the conference room about Peter's two dads' obsession with his diet.  If what she's saying is anywhere close to the truth, he's going to have to tease Steve mercilessly the next time he sees the man.  "I can't say no if you don't ask me," he points out.  
  
"Can I get a picture of you as Daredevil?"  The question hangs for a second before Peter fills the silence with a torrent of words.  "I-I usually just take pictures of me to sell to the Bugle but one of you would pay twice as much and... Well, I'm being scrapbooked to death.  It started out small and now it's this whole thing and it's getting mad expensive and --"  
  
"Breathe, Peter," Matt instructs.  "You want to sell a picture of me to that maniac Jameson?"  
  
"He'll pay me three hundred dollars for it."  
  
"That seems a little low."  
  
"The Globe is offering five," Peter admits.  "But Jameson'll hire me to debug the website again and that'll bring in more money.  He fired me three weeks ago, so we're about due to start that cycle again."  
  
"You know he's going to use it to write some very unflattering things," Matt says.  
  
"He'll write unflattering things without it," Peter points out.    
  
Mary Jane pokes her head in.  "Don't blame Peter.  It was my idea."  
  
"So were the scrapbooks from hell," Peter complains.  
  
"Don't you start that again, you grinch!" she scolds him.  "You were the one who gave Peggy Carter --"  
  
"Fine," he grumbles.  
  
"And you know Bucky's sister is going to love having pictures of him."  Mary Jane pauses and then adds with the finesse of Matt when he's making a closing argument, "Bucky and Steve are going to love having pictures of each other and us."  
  
"I'll bet you've never been more grateful that I'm blind," Matt says with a smile.  
  
"You have _no_ idea," Peter agrees.  
  
Matt senses the motion of Mary Jane's hand an instant before she smacks Peter soundly on the arm.  
  
"I'd also like some pictures of you and Jessica for the scrapbooks and for Aunt May," Peter says.    
  
"But not for you?" Jessica asks coming up behind him.  "Dude, it's my first Christmas --"  
  
"You are _so_ not getting a scrapbook."  
  
"I don't need a scrapbook, dummy.  I just want a picture of you and Aunt May," Jessica argues before adding hesitantly, " A-and maybe one of Uncle Ben."  
  
Matt can hear the tension go out of Peter, the soft exhalation.  "It's our first Christmas without him."  
  
"Your first Christmas without him," Jessica corrects him softly.  "I don't feel like you as much anymore.  I feel like... me."  
  
Peter clears his throat.  "I'll scan a bunch of pictures and send them to you if you don't mind waiting until Christmas break.  O-or you can come over and pick the ones you want.  Aunt May loves any excuse to break out the photo albums."  
  
Jessica runs a hand through her hair.  "I'd like that," she says.  "Anyway, it's my first Christmas with Matt and we're actually going to Midnight Mass like real Catholics.  I'm even going to wear a dress."  
  
"Good for you," Mary Jane praises her.  
  
"Kate picked it out.  I'm still iffy on the dresses and high heels thing but..."  Jessica pauses and Matt can sense her temperature rise as she blushes.  "After a few months of therapy, I'm identifying as a girl.  So, uh, I guess I should learn how to dress like one."  
  
"Is it offensive or anything if I say I'm proud of you?" Peter asks.  
  
"Not at all," Jessica assures him.  
  
"Then I'm proud of you."  
  
Matt senses the hug before it happens and then he hears the click of Mary Jane's cell phone camera, capturing the moment.  
  
"This is the one we have to give Aunt May," Mary Jane says.  "It has everything.  The two of you hugging and Matt looking adorable with that goofy, proud smile on his face."  
  
"At the risk of burdening you two scrapbookers further, may Jessica and I have a copy?"  Matt asks.  He may not be able to see it but he knows Jessica will treasure the memory.    
  
"What about one for Uncle Foggy?" Foggy steps into Matt's increasingly crowded office.  "In fact, how about one _with_ Uncle Foggy?"  
  
"Don't look at me, tiger," Mary Jane says to Peter.  "You're the freelance photographer."  
  
"Boy, am I ever."  
  
  
  
0000000000000  
  
  
  
Operation: Scrapbook requires using every bit of stealth Steve has ever learned to avoid Bucky's detection skills.  Fortunately, Peter was clever enough to get them started by leaving blank scrapbook pages with sticky notes under Steve's pillow.   For his part, Steve managed to smuggle in the sketches he needed after his visit with the detective and Pepper.  He puts his completed pages in the top drawer of Peter's desk with sticky notes of his own.  Pictures and page layouts are sent to his e-mail account for approval.     
  
Everything is proceeding smoothly.  
  
And then Steve gets the message from Pepper.  
  
The arrangements have been made.  
  
He texts his troops about the change in deadline.  They're going to have to work harder than anticipated to meet the new timeline but he knows they can do it if they all work together.  
  
There's no way they're going to let Bucky down.


	12. The Time of Year to Be With the Ones You Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: EXTREME FEELS AHEAD. Management disclaims all responsibility for excessive tissue usage, tear stains or other related damage incurred in the reading of this chapter which is the first one in this story to be written from Bucky's POV.

**The Time of Year to Be With the Ones You Love**  
  
  
  
It takes almost the entire drive from Queens to Ellenville for Barnes to recognize the emotion he's feeling.  He's nervous.  Nervous, Barnes realizes, is an entirely different emotion than fear.  His reaction?  That's the same.  He's clinging onto Petey for dear life, arm around the kid's shoulders and chin resting on the boy's head.   Petey is snuggled into Barnes' side and if Barnes is gripping him a little too tightly, he's keeping mum about it.  
  
What's not the same?  Barnes keeps getting reassuring pats and arm squeezes from Steve,  Aunt May and Mary Jane.  All the contact is helping.  It really is.  But he's still nervous.  
  
Aunt May reaches out and takes his free hand in hers.  The cybernetic one.  The one that could crush the bones in her hand into powder.  Barnes looks pointedly down at their joined hands and then up at Aunt May, the way he's done every time she's touched the killing thing without regard for her own safety.  And just like every time before, Aunt May doesn't take the hint.  In fact, she ignores it completely and gives him a look that tells him she knows exactly what she's doing and that she trusts him not to hurt her.  Eventually, Barnes thinks, he's going to get used to people touching the hand that way.  
  
All too soon, Happy pulls the armored SUV into the driveway of the house that Pepper secured for the meeting.  Barnes notes every detail of the security measures put in place and is pleased that he can't immediately spot any weaknesses.  That, he's sure, is Steve's doing.  
  
Then again, even HYDRA would think twice before launching an attack against Captain America, the Winter Soldier and Spider-man.  
  
Pepper is waiting on the front porch of the modest-looking split level ranch and gives each of them a hug and kiss before addressing Barnes.  "She arrived last night so she's had plenty of time to get some rest for today.  How are you holding up?"  
  
"Nervous," Barnes admits because lying to Pepper is as useless as lying to Aunt May or Steve.  
  
"It must be a family trait," Pepper says with a warm smile and letting them into the house.  
  
The interior of the house is anything but modest.  Barnes can detect the hand of Pepper in selecting the expensive yet comfortable furniture in the living room, the soft lighting, the crackling fire in the fireplace and the gaily decorated Douglas fir in the corner.  His grip tightens around Petey's shoulders as he sets eyes on his sister for the first time.  
  
She's in a wheelchair and she looks frail.  Her skin seems paper thin and her hair is pure white.  The blue eyes so like his own, though, aren't milky with age.  They're bright and sharp as they greedily drink him in.  
  
Barnes keeps a firm hold on Petey as he approaches her.  There's nothing familiar about the woman at all.  
  
The silence stretches between them to the point of being awkward.  
  
"I'm Peter," Petey says, breaking the silence and twisting out of Barnes' grip to step forward to introduce himself.  "Uh, I'm Spider-man."  
  
Her lips curve into a smile so like Barnes' own.  "I have you to thank, then, for bringing Bucky back to me.  Up until I saw the picture of you hugging him, I believed what they told me.  That he was dangerous and I shouldn't try to find him.  But the way he looked holding you...  That's how he looked when he held me all those years ago."  
  
Petey reaches out and takes Barnes' hand, tugging him closer.  He peers up at Barnes for a moment and then introduces everyone else.  "This is my Aunt May and that's my girlfriend, Mary Jane Watson --"  
  
"I'm here for moral support."  Mary Jane waves hello.  
  
"And I guess you remember Steve," Petey concludes.  
  
"Oh, I remember Steve," the woman in the wheelchair says.  "But the Steve I remember isn't the larger than life hero in the fancy outfit.  The Steve I knew was the one Bucky was always pulling out of one scrape or another."  
  
"Some things never change," Barnes mutters.  He ruffles Petey's hair.  "I pull this punk out of scrapes at least once a week."  
  
Petey blushes and the woman erupts into laughter.  
  
"So you do speak."  
  
"Uh," Barnes says and never has he sounded more like Petey.  
  
"He's nervous," Mary Jane tells her.  "You should be honored.  You scare the daylights out of the former Fist of HYDRA."  
  
Barnes shoots Mary Jane a look but she just rolls her eyes at him.   He turns to the woman.  Becca?  Becky?  "I don't remember much...  About then."  
  
"Ms. Potts told me," she says gently and then her eyes glint with mischief.  "Luckily for you, I remember _all_ of the embarrassing stories.  Steve, do you remember the one about the trolley?"  
  
Apparently, Stevie does because he turns a very deep shade of red.  
  
"Well, don't just stand there like a pair of big dopes," she says in a bossy tone that is instantly familiar,  and not just because she sounds just like Mary Jane, "take a load off and let's talk about the good old days."  
  
"Becca," Bucky breathes as the emotions hit him.  Hard.  Along with the memories.   "There were two before you.  Mary, stillborn and Thomas, who lived a week."  
  
"We were Irish Catholic," Becca tells him.  "Birth control was in the hands of our Lord back then.  There were two stillbirths before you, too, you know."  
  
He didn't know, though he's studied everything Pepper's given him about Becca.  Barnes knows that her husband died almost twenty years ago.  She has two children, a boy and a girl, who have children of their own and there is even a great-grandchild.    
  
As if she can read his mind, Becca tells him about them, naming the names he's committed to memory but imbuing the mention of each name with commentary and making them real people.  She seems especially fond of her namesake great grand-daughter who goes by the name of Rikki and who is currently obsessed with her great-uncle.  "She's your most fervent supporter.  If you ever see commentary about you on social media, Rikki is the one arguing the loudest and the longest."  
  
Barnes takes that in and then announces, "Petey's mine."  The word 'mine' hangs in the air while Barnes considers its implications.  HYDRA punished him severely for acting possessively towards even a rifle.  Objects did not possess other objects.  Even though he's referred to Petey as his kid to Steve, to Aunt May and to Petey himself, voicing the sentiment seems somehow _wrong_ so he hastily adds, "Not biologically.  He's --"  
  
"Bucky and Steve have kind of adopted me," Petey clarifies, turning to give Barnes a quick hug.  "Aunt May and I have kind of adopted them too.  Bucky lives with us and..."  He grins wickedly at Steve.  "Steve's on the extended stay plan."  
  
Becca's gaze ticks to Aunt May as if she suddenly understands why Aunt May is here.  "You've been looking after him."  
  
"Of course," Aunt May agrees, casting a fond glance in Barnes' direction.  "He's family."  
  
"He always did have that way about him.  When he wasn't being Stevie's mother hen, Bucky was being mothered himself.  If it wasn't Stevie's ma, it was everyone else's," Becca laughs.  "Heaven help the poor girl who brought him home for dinner because her parents would be discussing the engagement before coffee. D'ya remember, Stevie?"  
  
"I do," Steve assures her.  
  
"Petey," Becca says, "be a love and fetch that scrapbook over there.  I don't have many pictures from when we were all young and fresh as the day was new but I suspect you'll all enjoy them.  I also have all the clippings I could get my hands on.  Rikki, of course, keeps begging for that scrapbook."  She smiles up at Barnes.  "I had more than this, Buck, including your Distinguished Service Cross, but when the Smithsonian asked for it all, I couldn't say no.  Mama and I realized you weren't just ours anymore and we had to share you with the world.  Same goes for you, Stevie, and the things you left with us."  
  
"Mama," Barnes repeats.  "I don't..."  
  
"Daddy died two years before you were drafted," she tells him and the Irish inflection to her words on top of the Brooklyn accent grows even stronger.  "After he lost his furniture business in 1930, he took up with the drink and it eventually was the death of him.  Mama passed in 1952.  Cancer.  She loved her Luckies, Mama did."  
  
Barnes' hand is shaking as he grabs Petey and hauls him over, holding him close.  Aunt May takes a seat on Barnes' left side, leans in and kisses his cheek.  
  
"Do you need a moment, sweetheart?" Aunt May asks.  
  
Barnes nods.  
  
Steve sets a glass of water in front of him.  "If it's too much, just say the word, Buck."  
  
"No," Barnes says and he suppresses a wince at how rough his voice sounds, "I want to know."  
  
He's acutely aware of how his family reacts to that statement, just as they're reacted all week, starting with when he slipped the first time and said he wanted.  And Christ, what a thing to want, a Christmas tree.  For as long as he can remember, wanting was not allowed.  Wanting led to noncompliance which in turn led to punishment, swift and severe.  After that, the only want was to please his masters and avoid punishment.  Until the tree.  Now, wanting leads to _having_ and being encouraged to want _more_.  
  
"After I got over the shock of you being alive, Buck, I worried about you," Becca says, looking over at them.  "Up until you came through that door, no matter what Ms. Potts told me, I worried.  Now I see your family and I know I don't have to worry." She slants a grin at him.  "I don't have to, but I will.  Least I can do after you spent my entire childhood fretting over me."  
  
Barnes eases himself free from Petey and Aunt May.  He doesn't know the woman in the wheelchair but he thinks he might remember the girl she used to be.  That girl is still there in her eyes and in her words.  He kneels in front of her and lays his head in her lap.  "Becca."  
  
"Oh, Buck.  I've missed you every single day since you shipped out."  Her voice catches as her fingers card gently through his hair.  "I was angry with you for going.  Angry with you, with the Germans, with President Roosevelt himself for drafting you.  When they told me you were gone, it was every fear I had come true.  And then I was angry with myself for not saying the one thing you needed to hear.  I love you, Buck.  I've never stopped."  
  
His eyes are stinging and his throat is uncomfortably tight.  Not allowed, he thinks.  Crying is not allowed.  But it is.  He's allowed to want.  He's allowed to cry.  And more importantly, he is allowed to love.  That was the first lesson he learned since breaking free from HYDRA and it was taught to him by a scrawny fifteen year old punk.  He holds out his hand and it isn't until the little punk takes it that Barnes realizes the hand is his left.  
  
"Bucky brought you something," Petey tells Becca.  "Mary, will you give it to Ms. Proctor?"  
  
"Aunt Becca," she corrects him.  "If you're Bucky's boy, I'm your Aunt Becca."  
  
Barnes is completely mystified about what the punk and his girl are up to and a glance over at Stevie's smug puss says he's in on whatever it is, too.  
  
"Bucky thought you might like some pictures of him," Mary says, handing a fancy red leather bound book to Becca.  
  
He wants to protest that he had absolutely nothing to do with it, but it's too late.  Becca is opening the the book.  The first image is of Barnes, setting the star on top of the tree.  He was so excited at the time, he hadn't noticed the little punk was taking pictures.  His excitement shows in the photo to the point where Barnes isn't even sure he recognizes himself.  
  
"This reminds me of the Christmas before you shipped out," Becca says, smiling at Barnes.  "You always loved Christmas."  
  
"You were born on December twenty-third."  The date, which seemed like just another cold fact when he read it earlier, suddenly fills him with warmth.  "I always told Ma you were my Christmas present."  
  
Becca nods.  "That's right.  You always got me penny peppermint sticks for my birthday.  At least until you got big enough to earn your own money."  She looks over at Steve.  "Do you remember the Cokes Bucky got us for your birthday, Stevie?"  
  
"I'd almost forgotten," Steve admits.  
  
"Mr. Schiller's boy at the drugstore up and quit that day," Becca recalls.  "Bucky marched right in there and asked for the job, even though he was only nine.  He spent the day making deliveries and doing goodness knows what and when he came home that night, he ran all the way with the two cold bottles of Coke that he spent his day's pay on."  
  
Barnes is so intent on the story that he almost doesn't notice the clicking of Petey's camera.  
  
Becca turns another page in the red leather book and laughs.  "So you made it to the Grand Canyon, I see."  
  
Barnes catches Petey's eye and the boy blushes and ducks his head.  
  
"Daddy used to talk about going there one day," Becca says, slowly turning the pages and raising an eyebrow at the picture Bucky took of Peter in his Spidey suit, webbing Steve in the face.  "Do you remember?"  
  
Barnes shakes his head but Steve nods.    
  
"Is that why we went there?" Petey asks.  
  
Steve grins.  "It was one of the reasons."   He eyes Peter.  "The other reason was that it was supposed to be a nice, peaceful trip."  
  
"Sorry?" Peter ventures.  
  
"Well," Becca says, "I've told some of my stories.  I think it's time you told me one of yours, brother of mine."  
  
Barnes sits on the arm of the easy chair next to Becca and peers at the photos that are artfully arranged on the parchment paper.  "It was supposed to be a nice, peaceful trip," he begins and he's surprised when the words start to flow easily.  "Petey, Stevie and I were supposed to be _bonding_..."

 

 


	13. What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

**What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?**  
  
  
  
  
  
It doesn't surprise Steve that Bucky is quiet during entirety of the ride home.  And if Bucky doesn't cling to Peter exactly, he's still keeping the boy reassuringly close even as they step inside the Parker home.  He looks completely wrung out and Aunt May, bless her, takes immediate action.  
  
"You look tired, Bucky," she says, reaching up to cup his cheek in her hand.  "It's not rude for you to call it a night, you know."  
  
He nods tiredly, starts to head for the stairs and then abruptly turns, grabbing first May and then Peter in a fierce hug.  As he hugs Peter, Bucky whispers so softly that only enhanced hearing could discern the word, "Mine."  
  
"Yours," Peter assures him and he doesn't whisper it.  He says it proudly.  
  
Bucky releases Peter, looking down at the boy with so much emotion that it makes Steve's throat tight just to watch.  He squeezes Peter's shoulder and heads up the stairs with uncharacteristic slowness that Steve knows is the result of such an emotionally charged day.  
  
Aunt May watches him go and then turns to Peter.  "Why don't you get your sleeping bag and stay in Bucky's room tonight?"  She gives him a pointed look.  "In fact, it's getting late.  You should turn in now."  
  
"G'night Aunt May," Peter recites obediently.  "G'night Steve."  
  
They watch him hurry up the stairs and Aunt May heaves an exhausted sigh.  "You might want to turn in yourself, Steve.  It's probably going to be a rough night."  
  
It takes Steve a moment to follow her meaning.  "I could sleep in Bucky's room if --"  
  
"I'm not worried about Bucky getting violent," Aunt May quickly corrects him.  "He's just had so many memories and emotions thrown at him today that I'm worried he's going to have nightmares.  Having Peter close calms him."  She takes a deep breath, lets it out and then shakes her head, clearly exasperated.  "I understood it today, Steve.  I understood just how much HYDRA stole from him.  They took _everything_.  The person he was, the life he should have had...  And all they gave him in return was pain and fear.  I know it's not a nice thing to wish for but I wish someone would make them pay for that --"  
  
"Someone did," Steve assures her, thinking of Zola, Pierce and the HYDRA bases they've destroyed.  "And if there are others, we're going to find them and make them pay, too."  
  
Aunt May is not mollified.  "He's afraid all the time.  No matter what kind of a show he puts on for Peter, he's terrified underneath that he's going to be punished -- _tortured_ \--  for being a person.  It _kills_ me sometimes, Steve, what those monsters did to Bucky.  Hearing his sister talk about him today...  The way he used to be... He's never going to be that again.  No matter how hard I try to make him feel safe and loved."  
  
Steve doesn't need to ask if Aunt May read the files about Bucky that were leaked onto the Internet and he's grateful that she's never seen the files that were recovered from HYDRA bases after that.  "I think it's enough that he feels safe and loved.  He's come so far, Aunt May, and in such a short time.  You know what the doctors said --"  
  
"And what about you?" Aunt May asks suddenly.  
  
Steve blinks. "Me?"  
  
"You also put up a good front," she says.  "But Bucky's not the only one who's lost an entire lifetime.  I can't imagine how hard it must have been for you.  How hard it still is."  
  
"I'm okay --"  
  
"The hell you are," Aunt May scolds.  She catches herself and takes another calming breath.  "You put so much pressure on yourself and that's on top of the pressure everyone else puts on you to be the perfect soldier, the perfect hero.  Did it ever occur to you that you deserve to feel safe and loved, too?"  
  
"I..."  Steve begins to protest and then he stops, thinking about how well he's slept during the past few days, how relaxed he's been.  How much fun he's had.  "Sam asked me once what made me happy and I told him I didn't know.  Now I do.  Being here.  With Bucky.  With Peter.  With you."  
  
"I'm sure he'll be relieved to hear it," Aunt May tells him with a warm smile.  "He worries about you, you know.  Almost as much as I do."  She gives Steve a brief hug.  "And before _you_ start worrying about overstaying your welcome, don't.  You can stay here as long as you'd like.  In fact, I think Bucky and Peter would love for you to stay during Peter's winter break."  
  
Suddenly, Steve can't think of anything he wants more.  
  
  
  
  
00000000000000  
  
  
"You know he knows," Mary Jane says.  
  
"Of course he knows," Peter agrees.  "Ever try hiding something from someone with enhanced senses who's that highly trained?"  
  
They both look pointedly at Steve who is busily illustrating a page for Bucky's scrapbook at Mary Jane's kitchen table.  He lowers his pencil and grins at them.  "Don't look at me.  I'm not the one who came up with the flimsy excuse about you needing me to help study for your history final."  
  
Peter flushes slightly because he was the one responsible for _that_ brilliant idea.  "You two are inseparable --"  
  
"And have been since we were six years old," Steve tells him.  "Give or take a few decades."    
  
"How else were we going to get you out of the house without him for a couple of hours?" Peter finishes.  "Other than making up some lame-o excuse that he won't believe?"  
  
Steve laughs softly.  "It doesn't matter if Buck's figured out you're giving him a scrapbook of his own or that we all sneaked out to work on it.  He's going to love it."  
  
" _We're_ giving him a scrapbook," Peter corrects Steve.  "And he _is_ going to love it.  You've seen all the pictures he's got hanging up in his room."  There are two bulletin boards that are covered with photos and other mementos and Bucky is something of a pack rat when it comes to acquiring more items for his boards.  
  
Mary Jane frowns at the page she's working on.  "Do you think it's his way of making sure his memories are real?"  
  
"Probably," Peter says.  He blows out an irritated breath and avoids looking at Steve who also blows out an irritated breath.  No doubt Steve is also thinking about how much he'd like to beat the snot out of the next HYDRA goon they come across.  
  
"I wish we could do more than this for him," she says sharply, eyes flashing.    
  
Peter sighs.  "Me too."  He runs a hand through his hair and tries to think of other things that they can do.  "There's a whole family out there that's he hasn't met."  
  
"Who aren't ready to meet him," Steve says gently.  "You heard what Becca said.  They only know what they've heard in the media."  He reaches over and ruffles Peter's hair.  "Bucky needs to be ready to meet them, too."  
  
"I know," Peter agrees.  "It's just..."  
  
"You want to give him everything you can," Steve finishes.  "I know.  I do too."  
  
Mary Jane nods in agreement.  "Somehow, making his favorite cookies and giving him a scrapbook doesn't seem like enough."  
  
Steve flips the scrapbook to the first page and starts turning the pages slowly while Peter and Mary Jane look on.  The first few pages are about Bucky's life before the war and the next are clippings from his days as a Howling Commando.  Everything after that details his life from the time he broke his programming and saved Peter's life.  Page after page is filled with photos and mementos that detail how far he's come in so short a time. 

"Look how much you've given him," Steve says quietly, pointing to the photo of Bucky picking out the Christmas tree.  "This scrapbook is a celebration of that."  
  
"Did I happen to mention that my parents are getting a divorce?" Mary Jane asks Steve.  
  
He looks at her, confused.  
  
"My dad cheated on my mom.  For, like, years.  She finally kicked him out a few months ago."  
  
Peter suddenly knows where this is going and he quickly covers his face with his hand to hide his smile while he watches it play out.  
  
"I'm sorry?" Steve offers.  
  
"Yeah," Mary Jane says bitterly.  "Me too.  I kind of hate him now."  She eyes Steve speculatively, hands on hips.  "So, what I could really use for Christmas are two super cool, super soldier dads.  Bucky's already signed on so I've got one spot filled.  Know any other super soldiers who might want to volunteer for this dangerous assignment?"  
  
Steve blushes an intense shade of pink.    
  
"I'm guessing that's a yes."  
  
He nods.  
  
"Well, then, super soldier dad, how about a hug?"  
  
Of course Peter snaps a picture.  He's got scrapbooks to fill.  
  
  
  
000000000000  
  
  
  
**Meanwhile in Hell's Kitchen...**  
  
  
  
The Becky Barnes file is closed and it's the first case in a long time where the tears were happy ones.  At least so I assumed.  Pepper Potts didn't volunteer a lot of details other than that the meeting took place without a hitch.  She also sent over a vendor questionnaire for me to fill in so that I could be retained to do background checks and other investigative work for Stark Industries.    
  
All in all, I think, things are looking up for me.  Finally.  Between Becky Barnes, SI and the work Murdock threw my way, I might even be able to afford a better class of bourbon.  For now, I'll settle for the cheap stuff while I review what I've dug up on Roxxon for the progress report I have to give Murdock tomorrow.  I open the door to my apartment --  
  
\-- and find myself staring at the Winter Soldier himself.  
  
If I hadn't spent days memorizing every file and photo I could find about him, I might not have recognized him.  He looks less like a psychopathic hobo than a scruffy graduate student in his oversized hoodie, baseball cap, jeans and combat boots.  
  
Not that his attempt at appearing harmless matters.  The bag with my booze slips from my panicked hand.  
  
Barnes moves in less than the blink of an eye and catches it easily, holding it out to me.  
  
I don't make a move to take it.  In fact, I don't make any moves.  Super strong I may be but this guy can definitely take me.  Without working up a sweat.  
  
He actually looks a little hurt at my lack of response and then backs away to set the bag down on my desk, before raising both hands above his head.  "I'm not here to hurt you.  I... I came to thank you."  
  
I think about the fact that I have Steve Rogers' personal cell phone number and the fact that by the time I dial it, I'd be dead.  Since dying wasn't on my calendar today, I plaster on a smile and say, "You're welcome."  
  
We stare at each other and I start to feel like a grade-A asshole for being rude to the Fist of HYDRA, of all fucking things.  Also, I'm noticing that Barnes, once he's cleaned up and dressed like a human being, is actually damned good looking in addition to being built like a brick shit house.  
  
"Want a drink?" I ask, looking him over appreciatively.  "I'm celebrating."  
  
"Can I put my hands down?" Barnes asks, as he returns my appraisal.  With interest.  "Kinda hard to drink otherwise."  
  
"Well, look who put the 'sass' in assassin."  My smile is genuine now.  Brain damage and whatever else he's been through aside, Barnes is clearly a lot more fun than his pal, Rogers.  "Keep 'em where I can see 'em."  
  
There's a flicker of interest in those baby blues.  "That gives me a lot of leeway, sweetheart."  
  
So that's how he wants to play.  I nod towards his left hand which is concealed by a leather glove.  "How many speeds does that thing have?"  
  
"You like to live dangerously," Barnes says with the barest hint of the cocky smile I saw in the photos his sister showed me from the days when he was a bright young man with a promising future.  
  
I gesture to my office-slash-apartment to emphasize the obvious.  "I took a case to find the Winter Soldier.  That's about as dangerous as it gets."  
   
"You sure about that?" he asks teasingly.  
  
I know it's not.   I know from experience that there are things -- people -- out there who can do far worse things than the assholes who made Bucky Barnes into the Winter Soldier could imagine.  Rather than dwell on the thought, I brush past Barnes and snatch up the bottle from my desk.  "To closed cases, payment for services rendered in glorious fucking cash, being put on retainer twice in one week and to new... whatever we are."  
  
Barnes watches me take a good, long pull on the bottle that banishes the thought of anything purple from my mind before I hand it to him.  He eyes the amount left in the bottle and looks at me with something unexpected.  Concern.  "Let's start with being friends, Jones."  
  
Friends.  With the man who is possibly the most dangerous assassin on the planet.  
  
Yup.  That sounds about right.

 

 

The end.  For now.

 

***************************

 

I honestly can't say I'm done writing fluffy holiday fic for the year.  There are soooo many other characters who weren't included in this story (and who some of you mentioned in the comments) and it's only December 9 after all.  I can say that I'm not done writing Jessica Jones.  The idea of writing a stand-alone JJ mystery is very appealing.  For those of you in Finals Hell, I say: why are you reading fanfic instead of studying!?  And of course I wish you all the best of luck on your exams.  As always, thanks for reading, for kudoing and for commenting -- that's the best kind of sustenance an author-person could ask for.  You, my readers, rock!  Happy holidays!


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